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BLACK ARROW 


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STEVENSON 


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“Ys ARE FAIR,” HE SAID AT LAST, “AND, AS THEY TELL ME, DOWERBED. 
How IF I OFFERED YOU A BRAVE MARRIAGE, AS BECAME 
YOUR FACE AND PARENTAGE?” 


BLACK ARROW 


A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES 


By 
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 


Illustrated by 
FRANCES BRUNDAGE 


THE 
SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY 
AKRON, OHIO NEW YORK 


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ILLUSTRATIONS COPYRIGHT, MCMXXVI 


BY 
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY 


THE BLACK ARROW 


A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES 
PROLOGUE 
JOHN AMEND-ALL 


N a certain afternoon, in the late springtime, 
the bell upon Tunstall Moat House was heard 
ringing at an unaccustomed hour. Far and 


- near, in the forest and in the fields along the river, — 
» people began to desert their labours and hurry towards _ 
~ the sound; and in Tunstall hamlet a group of poor ~ 


country-folk stood wondering at the summons. 


Tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old i 
King Henry VI., wore much the same appearance that _ 
it wears to-day. "A score or so of houses, heavily framed — 
.) with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley ascend- — 
ing from the river. At the foot, the road crossed a — 
bridge, and mounting on the other side, disappeared 
into the fringes of the forest on its way to the Moat | 
» House, and farther forth to Holywood Abbey. Half- 


q way up the village the church stood among yews. On 


‘ 3 


‘every side the slopes were crowned and the view | ; 


“bounded by the green'elms and greening oak-trees of 
the forest. 


Hard by the bridge there was a stone cross GH a fh 
“knoll, and here the group had collected—half a dozen _ 
2women and one tall fellow in a russet smock—dis- 
“cussing what the bell betided. An express had gone _ 
“through the hamlet half an hour before, and drunka 
~ pot of ale in the saddle, not daring to dismount forthe 
- hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant himself _ 
33 of what was forward, and oe bore sealed letters from 


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42 02~«<“‘“C=‘<CS:*«C PE BLACK ARROW 


if 


Sir Daniel Brackley to Sir Oliver Oates, the parson, 
who kept the Moat House in the master’s absence. 

But now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out 
of the edge of the wood and over the echoing bridge, 
there rode up young Master Richard Shelton, Sir 
Daniel’s ward. He, at the least, would know, and they 
hailed him and begged him to explain. He drew bridle 


willingly enough—a young fellow not yet eighteen, sun- 
_ browned and grey-eyed, in a jacket of deer’s leather, 


with a black velvet collar, a green hood upon his head, 


cand a steel crossbow at his back. The express, it ap- 
peared, had brought great news. A battle was im- 


pending. Sir Daniel had sent for every man who could 


draw a bow or carry a bill to go post-haste to Kettley, 


under pain of his severe displeasure; but for whom 
they were to fight, or of where the battle was expected, 


‘ Dick knew nothing. Sir Oliver would come shortly 
himself, and Bennet Hatch was arming at that moment, 


for he it was who should lead the party. 

“It is the ruin of this kind land,” a woman said. 
“If the barons live at war, ploughfolk must eat roots.” 

“Nay,” said Dick, ‘every man that follows shall have 
‘sixpence a day, and archers twelve.” 

“If they live,” returned the woman, “that may very 


well be; but how if they die, my master?” 


“They cannot better die than for their natural lord, i 


- gaid Dick. 


“No natural lerd of mine,” said the man in the 
smock. “I followed the Walsinghams; so we all did 


_ down Brierly way, till two years ago come Candlemas. 
And now I must side with Brackley! It was the law 
that did it; call ye that natural? But now, what with 
 $ir Daniel and what with Sir Oliver—that knows more 
of law than honesty—I have no natural lord but poor 
_ King Harry the Sixt, God bless him!—the poor inno- — 
cent that cannot tell his right hand from his left.” 


“Ye speak with an ill tongue, friend,” answered Dick, 


_ “to miscall your good master and my lord the king in 
the same libel. But King Harry—praise be the saints! 
_ —has come again into his right mind, and will have all : 
things peaceably ordained. And as for Sir Daniel, y’ 


rn 8 ee, ie 
PERRET BY 


THE BLACK ARROW ~~ 13 


are very brave behind his back. But I will be no tale- | 
bearer; and let that suffice.”’ 

“IT say no harm of you, Master Richard, ” returned 
the peasant. “Y’ are a lad; but when ye come to a 
man’s inches ye will find ye have an empty pocket. I 
say no more: the saints help Sir Daniel’s neighbours, 
and the Blessed Maid protect his wards!” 

“Clipsby,” said Richard, “‘you speak what I eannot — 
hear with honour. Sir Daniel is my good master and 
my guardian.” 

“Come, now, will ye read me a riddle?’ returned 
Clipsby. ‘‘On whose side is Sir Daniel?’’ 


“T know not,” said Dick, colouring a little; for his — 


guardian had changed sides continually in the troubles ~ 
of that period, and every change had brought him some 
increase of fortune. 


“Ay,” returned Clipsby, “you, nor no man. For, in- — 


rae he is one that goes to bed Lancaster and gets up 
ork.” 

Just then the bridge rang under horse-shoe iron, 
and the party turned and saw Bennet Hatch come 
galloping—a brown-faced, grizzled fellow, heavy of 
hand and grim of mien, armed with sword and spear, 
a steel salet on his head, a leather jack upon his body. 
He was a great man in these parts; Sir Daniel’s right | 
hand in peace and war, and at that time, by his master’s — 
interest, bailiff of the hundred. \ 

“Clipsby,” he shouted, “off to the Moat House, and 


send all other laggards the same gate. Bowyer will — 
give you jack and salet. We must ride before curfew. | 


Look to it: he that is last at the lychgate Sir Daniel 
shall reward. Look to it right well! I know you for 
aman of naught. Nance,” he added, to one of the 
women, “is old Appleyard up town?” ‘ 
“Tl warrant you,” replied the woman. “In his field 
for sure.” 
So the group dispersed, and while Clipsby walked 


leisurely over the bridge, Bennet and young Shelton — 


rode up the road together, through the village and 
past the church, . ON 
“Ye will see the old shrew,” said Bennet. “He will © 


14. | | "THE BLACK ARROW 


‘ ‘waste more time grumbling and prating of Harry the 


Fift than would serve a man to shoe a horse. And all 


_ because he has been to the French wars!” — 


The house to which they were bound was the last in 


«the village, standing alone among lilacs; and beyond 


it, on three sides, there was open meadow rising 


“ towards the borders of the wood. 


Hatch dismounted, threw his rein over the fence, and 


Nvalked down the field, Dick keeping close at his elbow, 
_ to where the old soldier was digging, knee-deep in his 
- cabbages, and now and again, in a cracked voice, sing- 
- Inga snatch of song. He was all dressed in leather, only 
his hood and tippet were of black frieze, and tied with 
_ searlet; his face was like a walnut-shell, both for colour 
and wrinkles; but his old grey eye was still clear 
_ enough, and his sight unabated. Perhaps he was deaf; 
perhaps he thought it unworthy of an old archer of 


Agincourt to pay any heed to such disturbances; but 


- neither the surly notes of the alarm-bell, nor the near 
approach of Bennet and the lad, appeared at all to 


- move him; and he continued obstinately digging, and 


-~ piped up, very thin and shaky: 


“Now, dear lady, if thy will be 
I pray you that you will rue on me.’ 


“Nick Appleyard,’ said Hatch, “Sir Oliver commends 


him to you, and bids that ye shall come within this 
hour to the Moat House, there to take command.”’ 


The old fellow looked up. 
‘Save you, my masters!” he said, grinning. “And 


where goeth Master Hatch?” 


“Master Hatch is off to Kettley, with every man that 


‘we can horse,” returned Bennet. “There is a fight 


- toward, it seems, and my lord stays a reinforcement.” 


_ “Ay, verily,” returned Appleyard. ‘‘And what will 


ye. leave me to garrison withal?” 


3 


_ answered Hatch. 


*T leave you six good men, and Sir Oliver to boot,” 


“It'll not hold the place,” said Appleyard; “the num- 


a i not. It would take two score to make it 
Le 


THE BLACK ARROW CNB 


‘Why, it’s for that we came to you, old shrew!” re- 
plied the other. “Who else is there but you that could 
do aught in such a house with such a garrison?” 

“Ay, when the pinch comes, ye remember the old 
shoe,” returned Nick. “There is not a man of you 
can back a horse or hold a bill; and as for archery— 
St. Michael! if old Harry the Fift were back again, he 
would stand and let ye shoot at him for a farthing a 
shoot!’’ 

“Nay, Nick, there’s some can draw a good how yet,” 
said Bennet. 

“Draw a good bow!” cried Appleyard. “Yes! But 
who'll shoot me a good shoot? It’s there the eye comes 
in, and the head between your shoulders. Now, what 
might you call a long shoot, Bennet Hatch?” 

“Well,” said Bennet, looking about him, “it would 
be a long shoot from here into the forest.” | 

“Ay, it would be a longish shoot,” said the old fellow, 
turning to look over his shoulder; and then he put up 
his hand over his eyes, and stood staring. | 

“Why, what are you looking at?’ asked Bennet, 
with a chuckle. “Do you see Harry the Fift?” 

The veteran continued looking up the hill in silence. 
The sun shone broadly over the shelving meadows; a 
few white sheep wandered browsing; all was still but 
the distant jangle of the bell. 

“What is it, Appleyard? ?” asked Dick. 

“Why, the birds,” said Appleyard. oa 

And, sure enough, over the top of the forest, where 
it ran down in a tongue among the meadows, and 
ended in a pair of goodly green elms, about a bowshot 
from the field where they were standing, a flight of 
birds was skimming to and fro, in evident disorder. 

“What of the birds?” said Bennet. ue 

“Ay!” returned Appleyard, “y’ are a wise man to go | 
to war, Master Bennet. Birds are a good sentry; in 
forest places they be the first line of battle. Look you, 
now, if we lay here in camp, there might be archers 
skulking down to get the wind of us; and here would 
you be, none the wiser!” 4 

“Why, old shrew,” said Hatch, “there be no men 


146 THE BLACK ARROW 


nearer us than Sir Daniel’s at Kettley; y’ are as safe 
as in London Tower; and ye raise scares upon a man 
for a few chaffinches and sparrows!” 
“Hear him!” grinned Appleyard. “How many a 
rogue would give his two crop ears to have a shoot at 
either of us! Saint Michael, man! they hate us like 
two polecats!” | 
- “Well, sooth it is, they hate Sir Daniel,’ answered 
Hatch, a little sobered. 

| “Ay, they hate Sir Daniel, and they hate every man 
that serves with him,” said Appleyard; “and in the first 
order of hating, they hate Bennet Hatch and old 
Nicholas the bowman. See ye here: if there was a 
stout fellow yonder in the wood-edge, and you and I 
stood fair for him—as, by Saint George, we stand !— 
which, think ye, would he choose?” 

“You, for a good wager,” answered Hatch. 
_ “My surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you!” cried 
the old archer. ‘You burned Grimstone, Bennet— 
they'll ne’er forgive you that, my master. And as for 
me, I’ll soon be in a good place, God grant, and out of 
bow-shoot—ay, and cannon-shoot—of all their malices. 
I am an old man, and draw fast to homeward, where 
the bed is ready. But for you, Bennet, y’ are to remain 
behind here at your own peril, and if ye come to my 
years unhanged, the old true-blue English spirit will 
be dead.” 
_ “Y? are the shrewishest old dolt in Tunstall Forest,” 
returned Hatch, visibly ruffled by these threats. “Get 
ye to your arms before Sir Oliver come, and leave 
prating for one good while. An ye had talked so much 
with Harry the Fift, his ears would ha’ been richer 
than his pocket.” 

An arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet; it 
struck old Appleyard between the shoulder-blades, and 
pierced him clean through, and he fell forward on his 
face among the cabbages. Hatch, with a broken cry, 
leapt into the air; then, stooping double, he ran for the 
cover of the house. And in the meanwhile Dick Shelton 
had dropped behind a lilac, and had his crossbow bent 
and shouldered, covering the point of the forest. 

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OVER THE ECHOING BRIDGE THERE RODE UP YOUNG MASTER RICHARD 


SHELTON. HE, AT LEAST, WOULD KNOW, AND THEY 
HAILED HIM AND BEGGED HIM TO EXPLAIN, 


18 ~—«' THE BLACK ARROW 


Not a leaf stirred. The sheep were patiently brows- 


ing; the birds had settled. But there lay the old man, 


- with a clothyard arrow standing in his back; and there 
- were Hatch holding to the gable, and Dick crouching 
- and ready behind the lilac bush. 


 “D’ye see aught?” cried Hatch. 


“Not a twig stirs,” cried Dick. 
_ “TY think shame to leave him lying,” said Bennet, 


coming forward once more with hesitating steps and 
a very pale countenance. ‘‘Keep a good eye on the 
wood, Master Shelton—keep a clear eye on the wood. 
_ The saints assoil us! here was a good shoot!” 


Bennet raised the old archer on his knee. He was 


~ not yet dead; his face worked, and his eyes shut and 
- opened like machinery, and he had a most horrible, 
- ugly look of one in pain. 


“Can ye hear, old Nick?” asked Hatch. ‘Have ye 


a last wish before ye wend, old brother?” 


“Pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a’? Mary’s 


name!” gasped Appleyard. “I be done with old Eng- 


: Jand. Pluck it out!” 


“Master Dick,” said Bennet, “‘come hither, and pull 


mea good pull upon the arrow. He would fain pass, 


_ the poor sinner.’ 


Dick laid down his crossbow, and pulling hard upon 


_ the arrow, drew it forth. A gush of blood followed; 
the old archer scrambled half upon his feet, called 
- once more upon the name of God, and then fell dead. 
_ Hatch upon his knees among the cabbages, prayed 
_ fervently for the welfare of the passing spirit. But 
- even as he prayed, it was plain that his mind was still 
divided, and he kept ever an eye upon the corner of 
_ the wood from which the shot had come. When he 
had done, he got to his feet again, drew off one of 
his mailed gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which 
_ was all wet with terror. 


“Ay,” he said, “‘it’ll be my turn next.” 


_ “Who hath done this, Bennet?” Richard asked, still. 
phelding the arrow in his hand. | 


_ “Nay, the saints know,” said Hatch. “Here are a 


a good two score Christian souls that we have hunted 


THE BLACK ARROW 1s 


out of house and holding, he and I. He has paid his 
shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, mayhap, ere I 
pay mine. Sir Daniel driveth over hard.” Mi 

“This is a strange shaft,” said the lad, looking at the 
arrow in his hand. 

“Ay, by my faith!” cried Bennet. ‘“‘Black, and black- 
feathered. Here is an ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth! | 
for black, they say, bodes burial. And here be words 
written. Wipe the blood away. What read ye?” 

““Appulyaird fro Jon Amend-All, ” read Shelton. 
‘What should this betoken ?” 

“Nay, I like it not,” returned the retainer, shaking © 
his head. “John Amend-All! Here is a rogue’s name 
for those that be up in the world! But why stand here — 
to make a mark? Take him by the knees, good Master 
Shelton, while I lift him by the shoulders, and let us 
lay him in his house. This will be a rare shog to poor 
Sir Oliver; he will turn paper-colour; he will pray like 
a windmill.” 
~» They took up the old archer, and carried him be- 
tween them into his house, where he had dwelt alone. 
And there they laid him on the floor, out of regard 
for the mattress, and sought, as best they might, to 
straighten and compose his limbs. ; 

Appleyard’s house was clean and bare. There was a 
bed, with a blue cover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair 
of joint-stools, a hinged table in the chimney-corner, 
and hung upon the wall the old soldier’s armoury of 
bows and defensive armour. ; Hatch began to look about — 
him curiously. 

**Nick had money,” he said. “‘He may have had three 
Score pounds put by. I would I could light upon’t! 
When ye lose an old friend, Master Richard, the best 
consolation is to heir him. See, now, this chest. I 
would go a mighty wager there is a bushel of gold 
therein. He had a strong hand to get, and a hard hand 
to keep withal, had Appleyard the archer. Now may 
God rest his spirit! Near eighty years he was afoot 
and about, and ever getting; but now he’s on the broad 
of his back, poor shrew, and no more lacketh; and if his 
chattels came to a good friend, he would be merrier, 


ro) THE BLACK ARROW | 


methinks, in heaven.” 


~ “Come, Hatch,” said Dick, “respect his stone-blind 
eyes. Would ye rob the man before his body? Nay, 


an be he would walk!” 


Hatch made several signs of the cross; but by this 
time his natural complexion had returned, and he was 
not easily to be dashed from any purpose. It would 
have gone hard with the chest had not the gate 
sounded, and presently after the door of the house 
opened and admitted a tall, portly, ruddy, black-eyed 
man of near fifty, in a surplice and black robe. 

“Appleyard,” the newcomer was saying, as he en- 
tered, but he stopped dead. ‘‘Ave Maria!” he cried. 
“Saints be our shield! What cheer is his?” 

“Cold cheer with Appleyard, sir parson,” answered 
Hatch, with perfect cheerfulness. “Shot at his own 
door, and alighteth even now at purgatory gates. Ay! 
there, if tales be true, he shall lack neither coal nor 
candle.”’ 

sir Oliver groped his way to a joint-stool, and sat 
down upon it, sick and white. 


“This is a judgment! O, a great stroke!” he sobbed, 


and rattled off a leash of prayers. 
Hatch meanwhile reverently doffed his salet and 
knelt down. 

“Ay, Bennet,” said the priest, somewhat recovering, 
ne what may this be? What enemy hath done 
this?” 

“Here, Sir Oliver, is the arrow. See, it is written 
upon with words,” said Dick. 

“Nay,” cried the priest, “this is a foul hearing! John 
Amend-All! A right Lollardy word. And black of 
hue, as for an omen! Sirs, this knave arrow likes me 
not. But it importeth rather to take counsel. Who 
should this be? Bethink you, Bennet. Of so many 
black ill-willers, which should he be that doth so hardly 
outface us? Simnel? I do much question it. The 
Walsinghams? Nay, they are not yet so broken; they 
still think to have the law over us, when times change. 
There was Simon Malmesbury, too. How think ye, 
Bennet ?” 


THE BLACK ARROW 21 


‘What think ye, sir,”’ returned Hatch, “‘of Ellis Duck- 
worth?” 

“Nay, Bennet, never. Nay, not he,” said the priest. 
“There cometh never any rising, Bennet, from below— 
so all judicious chroniclers concord in their opinion; 
but rebellion travelleth ever downward from above; 
and when Dick, Tom, and Harry take them to their 
bills, look ever narrowly to see what lord is profited 
thereby. Now, Sir Daniel, having once more joined 
him to the Queen’s party, is in ill odour with the York- 
ist lords. Thence, Bennet, comes the blow—by what 
procuring, I yet seek; but therein lies the nerve of this 

discomfiture.”’ 
_ “An’t please you, Sir Oliver,’”’ said Bennet, “the axles 
are so hot in this country that I have long been smelling 
fire. So did this poor sinner, Appleyard. And, by your 
leave, men’s spirits are so foully inclined to all of us, 
that it needs neither York nor Lancaster to spur them — 
on. Hear my plain thoughts: You, that are a clerk, and 
Sir Daniel, that sails on any wind, ye have taken many > 
men’s goods, and beaten and hanged not afew. Y’are 
called to count for this; in the end, I wot not how, © 
ye have ever the uppermost at law, and ye think all 
patched. But give me leave, Sir Oliver: the man that 
ye have dispossessed and beaten is but the angrier, 
and some day, when the black devil is by, he will up 
with his bow and clout me a yard of arrow through 
your inwards.” 
_ “Nay, Bennet, y’arein the wrong. Bennet, ye should 
be glad to be corrected,” said Sir Oliver. “Y’are a 
-prater, Bennet, a talker, a babbler; your mouth is 
wider than your two ears. Mend it, Bennet, mend it.” 

“Nay, I say no more. Have it as ye list,” said the 
retainer. 

The priest now rose from the stool, and from the 
writing-case that hung about his neck took forth wax 
and a taper, and a flint and steel. With these he sealed 
up the chest and the cupboard with Sir Daniel’s arms, 
Hatch looking on disconsolate; and then the whole 
party proceeded, somewhat timorously, to sally from 
the house and get to horse. 


4 


ead ac THE BLACK ARROW ae 


“Tis time we were on the road, Sir Oliver,” said 
Hatch, as he held the priest’s stirrup while he mounted. 
| “Ay; but, Bennet, things are changed,” returned the 
parson. ‘There is now no Appleyard—rest his soul !— 
to keep the garrison.» I shall keep you, Bennet. I must 
have a good man to rest me on in this day of black 
arrows. “The arrow that flieth by day,’ saith the 
evangel; I have no mind of the context; nay, lama 
sluggard priest, I am too deep in men’s affairs. Well, 
let us ride forth, Master Hatch. The jackmen should 
be at the church by now.” 

So they rode forward down the road, with the wind 
after them, blowing the tails of the parson’s cloak; and 
behind them, as they went, clouds began to arise and 
blot out the sinking sun. They had passed three of the 
scattered houses that make up Tunstall hamlet, when, 
coming to a turn, they saw the church before them. 
Ten or a dozen houses clustered immediately round it; 
but to the back the churchyard was next the meadows. 
At the lychgate, near a score of men were gathered, 
some in the saddle, some standing by their horses’ 
heads. They were variously armed and mounted; some 
with spears, some with bills, some with bows, and some 
bestriding plough-horses, still splashed with the mire 
of the furrow; for these were the very dregs of the 
country, and all the better men and the fair equipments 
were already with Sir Daniel in the field. 

“We have not done amiss, praised be the cross of 
Holywood! Sir Daniel will be right well content,” 
observed the priest, inwardly numbering the troop. 

“Who goes? Stand! if ye be true!” shouted Bennet. 

A man was seen slipping through the churchyard 
among the yews; and at the sound of this summons 
he discarded all concealment, and fairly took to his 
heels for the forest. The men at the gate, who had 
been hitherto unaware of the stranger’s presence, woke © 
and scattered. Those who had dismounted began 
scrambling into the saddle: the rest rode in pursuit; 
but they had to make the circuit of the consecrated — 
ground, and it was plain their quarry would escape 
them. Hatch, roaring an oath, put his horse at the 


x 


THE BLACK ARROW 23 


hedge, to head him off; but the beast refused, and sent 
his rider sprawling in the dust. And though he was 
up again in a moment, and had caught the bridle, the 
time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too great 
a lead for any hope of capture. 

The wisest of all had been Dick Shelton. Instead 
of starting in a vain pursuit, he had whipped his cross- 
bow from his back, bent it, and set a quarrel to the 
string; and now, when the others had desisted, he 
turned to Bennet, and asked if he should shoot. 

“Shoot! shoot!” cried the priest, with sanguinary 
violence. 

“Cover him, Master Dick,” said Bennet. “Bring me 
him down like a ripe apple.” 

The fugitive was now within but afewleaps of safety ; 
but this last part of the meadow ran very steeply 
up hill, and the man ran slower in proportion. What 
with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven 
movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as 
Dick levelled his bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half 
' desire that he might miss. The quarrel sped. 

The man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose 
from Hatch and the pursuers. But they were counting 
their corn before the harvest. The man fell lightly; he 
was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap ina 
bravado, and was out of sight next moment in the 
margin of the wood. 

“And the plague go with him!” cried Bennet. “He 
has thieves’ heels: he can run, by St. Banbury! But 
you touched him, Master Shelton; he has stolen your 
quarrel, may he never have good I grudge him less!” 

“Nay, but what made he by the church?” asked Sir 
Oliver. “I am shrewdly afeared there has been mis- 
ehief here. Clipsby, good fellow, get ye down from 
your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews.’ 

Clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned, 
- carrying a paper. | 

“This writing was pinned to the church door,” he 
said, handing it to the parson. “I found naught else, 
sir parson.” 

“Now, by the power of Mother Church,” cried Sir 


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an } SO aca ¥ us cA oer ey Ae t } te TRON * ; Sey Al Mat yen ras ays ae aM oer ii NaN eda 
PUN a lene Pra na 


24 ‘THE BLACK ARROW 


Oliver, “but this runs hard on sacrilege! For the 
king’s good pleasure, or the lord of the manor—vwell! 
But that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should 
fasten papers to the chancel door—nay, it runs hard 
on sacrilege, hard; and men have burned for matters of 
less weight! But what have we here? The light falls 
apace. Good Master Richard, y’ have young eyes. Read 
me, I pray, this libel.” 

Dick Shelton took the paper in his hand and read it 
aloud. It contained some lines of a very rugged dog- 
gerel, hardly ever rhyming, written in a gross charac- 
ter, and most uncouthly spelt. With the spelling some- 
what bettered, this is how they ran:— 


“T had four black arrows under my belt, 
Four for the greefs that I have felt, 
Four for the nomber of ill menne 
That have oppressid me now and then. 
One is gone; one is wele sped; 
Old Apulyaird is ded. 
One is for Maister Bennet Hatch, 
That burned Grimstone, walls and thatch. 
One for Sir Oliver Oates, 
That cut Sir Harry Shelton’s throat. 
Sir Daniel, ye shull have the fourt; 
We shull think it fair sport. 
Ye shull each have your own part, 
A blak arrow in each blak heart. 
Get ye to your knees for to pray: 
Ye are ded theeves, by yea and nay. 
“JON AMEND-ALL, 
of the Green Wood, 
And his jolly fellaweship. 


“Item, we have mo arrowes and goode hempen cord for otheres 
ef your following.” 


“Now, well-a-day for charity’ and the Christian 
- graces!’ cried Sir Oliver, lamentably. “Sirs, this is an 
ill world, and groweth daily worse. I will swear upon 
the cross of Holywood I am as innocent of that good 
knight’s hurt, whether in act or purpose, as the babe 
unchristened. Neither was his throat cut; for therein 
they are again in error, as there still live credible wit- 
nesses to show.” 


THE BLACK ARROW i 25 


“Tt boots not, sir parson,” said Bennet. “Here is 


unseasonable talk.” | 
“Nay, Master Bennet, not so. Keep ye in your due 

place, good Bennet,” answered the priest. “I shall make 

my innocence appear. I will upon no consideration 


lose my poor life in error. I take all men to witness 


that I am clear of this matter. I was not even in the 
Moat House. I was sent of an errand before nine upon 
the clock—” 

~ “Sir Oliver,” said Hatch, interrupting, “since it 
please you not to stop this sermon, I will take other 
means. Goffe, sound to horse.” 


And while the tucket was sounding, Bennet moved | 


close to the bewildered parson, and whispered violently 
in his ear. 

Dick Shelton saw the priest’s eye turned upon him 
for an instant in a startled glance. He had some cause 
for thought; for this Sir Harry Shelton was his own 
natural father. But he said never a word, and kept 
his countenance unmoved. 

Hatch and Sir Oliver discussed together for a while 
their altered situation; ten men, it was decided hbe- 
tween them, should be reserved, not only to garrison 


the Moat House, but to escort the priest across the _ 


wood. In the meantime, as Bennet was to remain be- 
hind, the command of the reinforcement was given to 
Master Shelton. Indeed, there was no choice; the men 
were loutish fellows, dull and unskilled in war, while 
Dick was not only popular, but resolute and grave be- 
yond his age. Although his youth had been spent in 
these rough country places, the lad had been well taught 
in letters by Sir Oliver, and Hatch himself had shown 
him the management of arms and the first principles 
of command. Bennet had always been kind and help- 
ful; he was one of those who are cruel as the grave to 
those they call their enemies, but ruggedly faithful and 
well-willing to their friends; and now, while Sir Oliver 
entered the next house to write, in his swift, exquisite 
penmanship, a memorandum of the last occurrences to 


his master, Sir Daniel Brackley, Bennet came up to his | 


pupil to wish him God-speed upon his enterprise. 


Sa see te 


a 


ss 
S all NA Abacus SRC ‘\ 
dip Hea PORE hy ud os 


96 +. «THE BLACK ARROW 


“Ye must go the long way about, Master Shelton,” 
he said; ‘‘round by the bridge, for your life! Keep a 
sure man fifty paces afore you, to draw shots; and go 


softly till y’ are past the wood. If the rogues fall upon 


ho you, ride for ’t; ye will do naught by standing. And 


_keep ever forward, Master Shelton; turn me not back 


f 


again, an ye love your life; there is no help in Tunstall, 
mind ye that. And now, since ye go to the great wars 
about the king, and I continue to dwell here in extreme 
jeopardy of my life, and ‘the saints alone can certify 


$f we shall meet again below, I give you my last counsels 
now at your riding. Keep an eye on Sir Daniel; he 


is unsure. Put not your trust in the jack-priest; he 


intendeth not amiss, but doth the will of others; it is 


2 hand-gun for Sir Daniel! Get you good lordship 
where ye go; make you strong friends; look to it. And 
think ever a paternoster-while on Bennet Hatch. There 
are worse rogues afoot than Bennet. So, God-speed!” 
“And Heaven be with you, Bennet!” returned Dick. 
“Ye were a good friend to me-ward, and so I shall 
say ever.” 
“And, look ye, master,” added Hatch, with a certain 
embarrassment, ‘if this Amend-All should get a shaft 


; - into me, ye might, mayhap, lay outa gold mark or may- 


hap a pound for my poor soul; for it is like to go stiff 


with me in purgatory.” 


“Ye shall have your will of it, Bennet,” answered 
Dick. “But, what cheer, man! We shall meet again, 
where ye shall have more need of ale than masses.” 

“The saints so grant it, Master Dick!’’ returned the 


other. ‘‘But here comes Sir Oliver. An he were as 


quick with the long-bow as with the pen, he would be 
a brave man-at-arms.” 
sir Oliver gave Dick a sealed packet, with this super- 
scription: “To my ryght worchypful master, Sir 
Daniel Brackley, knyght, be thys delyvered in haste.” 
And Dick, putting it in the bosom of his jacket, gave 


the word and set forth westward up the village. 


i yA AE Wa Pee eh ChE the Soar te eT aeb he Whar Dh PTS ait ores 4 Mee Meaty RNY Oa, ALORS mrt Wr aks Don aN Ae yD ee iat 
tks er Ae ah if of Nay TRU wie, a Ws ah ut He he bie 4 a Was iD } i} AY ANTS CN Wis Ai ity i 1 
.; 1 YoeWhey Vovaidabe aed) Cake RON: SW ath i ae Ka se AN OMT La Nef 
ak. ’ M < if ae y * Me AY f AY 
1 Wit Vacate 


BOOK I 


THE TWO LADS 
CHAPTER I 
AT THE SIGN OF THE SUN IN KETTLEY 


IR DANIEL and his men lay in and about Kettley © : 


that night, warmly quartered and well patrolled. 
But the Knight of Tunstall was one who never 
rested from money-getting; and even now, when he 
was on the brink of an adventure which should make 


or mar him, he was up an hour after midnight to | ; 


squeeze poor neighbours. He was one who trafficked 
greatly in disputed inheritances; it was his way to buy 
out the most unlikely claimant, and then, by the favour 


he curried with great lords about the king, procure un- © " 


just decisions in his favour; or, if that was too round- 
about, to seize the disputed manor by force of arms, 
and rely on his influence and Sir Oliver’s cunning in 


the law to hold what he had snatched. Kettley was — : 


one such place; it had come very lately into his 


clutches ; he still met with opposition from the tenants; 
and it was to overawe discontent that he had led his 


troops that. way. 


By two in the morning, Sir Daniel sat in the inn Rie 
room, close by the fire-side, for it was cold at that hour 


among the fens of Kettley. By his elbow stood a pottle 


of spiced ale. He had taken off his visored headpiece, 
and sat with his bald head and thin, dark visage rest- 
ing on one hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine- 
coloured cloak. At the lower end of the room abouta 
dozen of his men stood sentry over the door or lay 
asleep on benches; and, somewhat nearer hand, ayoung 
lad, apparently of twelve or thirteen, was stretched Es 
a mantle on the floor. The host of the Sun stood before _ ml 


the great man. 


“Now, mark me, mine host,” Sir Daniel said, “follow a i 
but mine orders, and I shall be your good lordever. [ 


27 


‘Did ibs init. Si a St. eT ee War hy ee at eae ey um bs eee ak Pha re he Oy ME deg RMA Peery kc CL eee ae, Ps ee ee Biow ym ey 
GSN NILA BA hs WP iey ee FY DAE AAU DE MET gern Ea RO AI ae ny eR NR ALAS Eur OM a Cay © MEM eM Wierare att AVY’ 
“am ; vi) Y Mt. oe ; bs be tt ee ri : See Ney Pil 4 Anite Bee PES ES ee 

hh iri eR TES 1, 7 4 yi 5 SAM! 


RN ae THE BLACK ARROW 
- must have good men for head boroughs, and I will 
have Adam-a-More high constable; see to it narrowly. 
If other men be chosen, it shall avail you nothing; 
rather it shall be found to your sore cost. For those 
_ that have paid rent to Walsingham I shall take good 
- Measure—you among the rest, mine host.” 
ai “Good knight,” said the host, “I will swear upon the 
- eross of Holywood I did but pay to Walsingham under 
-eompulsion. Nay, bully knight, I love not the rogue 
 Walsinghams; they were as poor as thieves, bully 
knight. Give mea great lord like you. Nay; ask me 
among the neighbours, I am stout for Brackley.” 
ia may be,” said Sir Daniel, drily. ‘Ye shall then 
~ pay twice.” 
The innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this was 
a piece of bad luck that might readily befall a tenant 
_ in these unruly times, and he was perhaps glad to make 
his peace so easily. 
vi “Bring up yon fellow, Selden!” cried the knight. . 
And one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing old 
man, as pale as a candle, and all shaking with the fen 
_ fever. “Sirrah,” said Sir Daniel, “your name?” 
_ “An’t please your worship,” replied the man, “my 
name is Condall—Condall of Shoreby, at your good 
worship’s pleasure.” 
’ “Tl have heard you ill reported on,” returned the 
i knight. “Ye deal in treason, rogue; ye trudge the 
country leasing; ye are heavily suspicioned of the 
_ death of severals. How, fellow, are ye so bold? But 
- I will bring you down.” 

“Right honourable and my reverend lord,” the man 
eried, “here is some hodge-podge, saving your good 
presence. I am but a poor private man, and have hurt 
none.’ 

| “The under-sheriff did report of you most vilely,” 
_ said the knight. “ ‘Seize me,’ saith he, ‘that Tyndal 
of Shoreby.’ ” 

“Condall, my good lord; Condall is my poor name,” 
 gaid the unfortunate. 
- “Condall or Tyndal, it is all one,” replied Sir Daniel, 
o coolly. “For, by my sooth, y’ are here, and I do 


ae ii Rly AAs Ody bl el SP Re BPA NL a Te EU TD tae Us Walaa et ela ak oe ke A a 
‘Per. L dd) dt Leet eh oe AES f TAMAS ait Lome ey mgVy \ ery 
¢ AD | J pat: f "i pa y 4 \ 1 ew : 


: 
THE BLACK ARROW Bou 


mightily suspect your honesty. If you would save your 
neck, write me swiftly an obligation for twenty pound.” 
“For twenty pound, my good lord!” cried Condall. 
“Here is midsummer madness! My Wate estate — 
amounteth not to seventy shillings.” | 
“Condall or Tyndal,” returned Sir Daniel, grinning, — 
“T will run my peril of that loss. Write me down 
twenty, and when I have recovered all I may, I will 
be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest.” | 
“Alas! my good lord, it may not be; I have no skill 
to write,” said Condall. ! 
““Well-a-day !” returned the knight. “Here, then, is 
no remedy. Yet I would fain have spared you, Tyndal, — 
had my conscience suffered. Selden, take me this old 
shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him 
tenderly by the neck, where I may see him at my riding. 
Fare ye well, good Master Condall, dear Master Tyn- 
dal; y’ are post-haste for Paradise; fare ye then well!” 
Nay, my right pleasant lord,’ replied Condall, 
forcing an obsequious smile, ‘‘an ye be so masterful, as 
doth right well become you, I will even, with all my | 
poor skill, do your bidding.” no 
“Friend,” quoth Sir Daniel, “ye will now write two — 
score. Go to! y’ are too cunning for a livelihood of — 
seventy shillings. Selden, see him write me this in 
good form, and haveit duly witnessed.”’ And SirDaniel, 
who was avery merry knight, none merrier in England, — 
took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back smiling. 
Meanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, and 
presently sat up and looked about him withascare. © 
“Hither,” said Sir Daniel; and as the other rose at 
his command and came slowly towards him, he leaned 
back and laughed outright. “By the rood!” he cried, Beh: 
“a sturdy boy!’ a 
The lad flushed crimson with anger, and darted aie 
look of hate out of his dark eyes. Now that he was 
on his legs, it was more difficult to make certain of his it 
age. His face looked somewhat older in expression, _ | Sy 
but it was as smooth as a young child’s; and in bone . : 
and body he was unusually slender, and somewhat — ut 
awkward of gait. NCa 


te ty ita Se Pr Pe. Bey hs uit SPAS AS OE pg Sa A TRS Be TT rhs eae dnd ie nares eral AA Pa ead BR CO a ee al 
i ear Zatti MS ue } eas 7 Bi mhabe coin ts aN) : 1, TARGA ASSN xR hha th ¥ ae AN ay 
ih ray Vy ASW tek Ke aA) SPARS 1h hie 4 
Ny eee hh matt ; : ‘) wy ; i i H “aX Lay i ad haan i ' 4 4 
h ; ; wah i Ki Cant 


Uso WHE BLACK ARROW. 


iy “Ye have called me, Sir Daniel,” he said. “Was it — 
to laugh at my poor plight?” / 

“Nay, now, let laugh,” said the knight. ‘Good shrew, 
~ let laugh, I pray you. An ye could see yourself, I 
/ -*warrant ye would laugh the first.” 

“Well,” cried the lad, flushing, “ye shall answer this 

- when yeanswerfortheother. Laugh while yet ye may!” 
“Nay, now good cousin,” replied Sir Daniel, with 
_ some earnestness, ‘think not that I mock at you, except 
- in mirth, as between kinsfolk and singular friends. 
_ I will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go 
_ to! and cherish you exceedingly. I took you, indeed, 
- roughly, as the time demanded; but from henceforth I 
shall ungrudgingly maintain and cheerfully serve you. 
_ Ye shall be Mrs. Sheiton—Lady Shelton, by my troth! 
for the lad promiseth bravely. Tut! ye will not shy 
_ for honest laughter; it purgeth melancholy. They 
are no rogues who laugh, good cousin. Good mine host, 
_ lay me a meal now for my cousin, Master John. Sit ye 
_ down, sweetheart, and eat.” 

“Nay,” said Master John, “I will break no bread. 
_ Since ye force me to this sin, I will fast for my soul’s 

uy interest. But, good mine host, I pray you of courtesy 
- give me a cup of fair water; I shall be much beholden 
_ to your courtesy indeed.” | 

. “Ye shall have a dispensation, go to!” cried the 
knight. ‘Shalt be well shriven, by my faith? Con- 
tent you, then, and eat.” 

_ But the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, 
once more wrapping himself closely in his mantle, sat 
in a far corner, brooding. 

_ In an hour or two there rose a stir in the village of 
_ sentries challenging and the clatter of arms and horses; 
_ and then a troop drew up by the inn door, and Richard 
Shelton, splashed with mud, presented himself upon 
the threshold. 

_ “Save you, Sir Daniel,” he said. 

_ “How! Dickie Shelton!” cried the knight; and at the 
~ mention of Dick’s name the other lad looked curiously 
across. ‘What maketh Bennet Hatch?” 

ie “Please: you, sir knight, to take ingahmeerbina of this 


poe 


aS 


THE BLACK ARROW  ~—_—sa31-—~” 


packet from Sir Oliver, wherein are all things fully 
stated,” answered Richard, presenting the priest’s let- 


ter. “And please you farther, ye were best make all _ 


speed to Risingham; for on the way hither we encoun- 
tered one riding furiously with letters, and by his 
report, my Lord of Risingham was sore bested, and 
lacked exceedingly your presence.”’ , 

“How say you? Sore bested?” returned the knight. — 
“Nay, then, we will make speed sitting down, good 
Richard. As the world goes in this poor realm of © 


England, he that rides softliest rides surest. Delay, — 


they say, begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of 
doing that undoes men; mark it, Dick. But let me 
see, first, what cattle ye have brought. Selden, a link 
here at the door!” , 
And Sir Daniel strode forth into the village street, 
and, by the red glow of a torch, inspected his new 
troops. He was an unpopular neighbour and an un-— 
popular master; but as a leader of war he was well 


beloved by those who rode behind his pennant. His. 


dash, his proved courage, his forethought for the sol- 


diers’ comfort, even his rough gibes, were all to the a 


taste of the bold blades in jack and salet. 

“Nay, by the rood!” he cried, “what poor dogs are 
these? Here be some as crooked as a bow, and some 
as lean as a spear. Friends, ye shall ride in the front 
of the battle; I can spare you, friends. Mark me this 
old villain on the piebald! A two-year mutton riding 
on a hog would look more soldierly! Ha! Clipsby, are 


ye there, old rat? Y’ areamanI could lose witha good — 
heart; ye shall go in front of all, with a bull’s-eye _ 
painted on your jack, to be the better butt for archery; ae 


sirrah, ye shall show me the way.” . 
“T will show you any way, Sir Daniel, but the way to ~ 

change sides,” returned Clipsby, sturdily. 4) 
Sir Daniel laughed a guffaw. act 
“Why, well said,” he cried. “Hast a shrewd tongue 


in thy mouth, go to! I will forgive you for that merry _ 


word. Selden, see them fed, both man and brute.’ v 
The knight re-entered the inn. oh) 
oR, friend Dick,” he said, “fall to. Here is peal is 


POEL Soil J BA EN Cg | a 4 Bi ie wed cy Ny CHEE VORA BY 6 Vie eat an r \5 TAY St Teves AY SEIU PE Pt iY is PINS (AN SON LV? 
i “A hy ber OAS ah UN Oa 24 Rear we a) Oh i YY ig We RY ed OL AD Ut OTR WAR LT NY Sea as AMR Ad TORS EE RN 
VY f ; wae. ‘ y ety, 5! Bal Hy : y Tes \ sais He ha ee) ‘euhie 4 et as ot ‘ } 
fix ‘ } 


32 THE BLACK ARROW 


ale a hacen. Eat, while that I read.” 

_. Sir Daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow 

_ darkened. When he had done he sat a little, musing. 

_ Then he looked sharply at his ward. 

“Dick,” said he, “y’ have seen this penny rhyme?” 
The lad replied in the affirmative. 

mn “It bears your father’s name,” continued the knight; 

_ “and our poor shrew of a parson is, by some mad soul, 

- accused of slaying him.” 

: “He did most eagerly deny it,’”’ answered Dick. 

‘ “‘He did?” cried the knight, very sharply. “Heed 

him not. He has a loose tongue; he babbles like a jack- 

- sparrow. Some day, when I may find the leisure, Dick, 


- I will myself more fully inform you of these matters. 


- There was one Duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but 
4 the times were troubled, and there was no justice to be 


ie Tt befell at the Moat House?” Dick ventured, with 
a beating at his heart. 

“It befell between the Moat House and Holywood,” 
replied Sir Daniel, calmly; but he shot a covert glance, 
black with suspicion, at Dick’s face. “And now,” 
added the knight, “speed you with your meal; ye shall 


return to Tunstall with a line from me.” 


Dick’s face fell sorely. 

“Prithee, Sir Daniel,” he cried, “send one of the 
- villains! I beseech you let me to the battle. I can 
strike a stroke, I promise you.” 
| “I misdoubt it not,” replied Sir Daniel, sitting down 
to write. “But here, Dick, is no honour to be won. I 
lie in Kettley till I have sure tidings of the war, and 
_ then ride to join me with the conqueror. Cry not on 


- cowardice; it is but wisdom, Dick; for this poor realm 


so tosseth with rebellion, and the king’s name and 
_ eustody so changeth hands, that no man may be certain 
_ of the morrow. Toss-pot and Shuttlewit run in, but 
- my Lord Good-Counsel sits 0’ one side, waiting.” 

With that, Sir Daniel, turning his back to Dick, and 
_ quite at the farther end of the long table, began to 
write his letter, with his mouth on one side, for this 
_ business of the Black Arrow stuck sorely in his throat. 


THE BLACK ARROW 33 


Meanwhile, young Shelton was going on heartily — i 


enough with his breakfast, when he felt a touch upon 
his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in his ear. 

“Make not a sign, I do beseech you,” said the voice, 
“but of your charity teach me tlie straight way to Holy- 
wood. Beseech you, now, good boy, comfort a poor 
soul in peril and extreme distress, and set me so far 
forth upon the way to my repose.” ) 

“Take the path by the windmill,’ answered Dick, in 
the same tone; * ‘it will bring you to Till Ferry; there 
inquire again.’ | 

And without turning his head, he fell again to eat- 
ing. But with the tail of his eye he caught a glimpse of 
the young lad called ‘Master John stealthily creeping 
from the room. 

“Why,” thought Dick, “he is as young as I. ‘Good 
boy’ doth he call me? An I had known, I should have 
seen the varlet hanged ere I had told him. Well, if he 
goes through the fen, I may come up with him and pull 
his ears.’ 

Half an hour later, Sir Daniel gave Dick the letter, 
‘and bade him speed to the Moat House. And again, 
some half an hour after Dick’s departure, a messenger 
came, in hot haste, from my Lord Risingham. | 

“Sir Daniel,’ the messenger said, “‘ye lose great 
honour, by my sooth! The fight began again this morn- 
ing ere the dawn, and we have beaten their van and 
scattered their right wing. Only the main battle stand- 
eth fast. An we had your fresh men, we should tilt 
them all into the river. What, sir knight! Will ye be 
the last? It stands not with your good credit.” 

“Nay,” cried the knight, “I was but now upon the 
march. Selden, sound me the tucket. Sir, I am with 
you on the instant. It is not two hours since the more 
part of my command came in, sir messenger. What 
would yehave? Spurring is good meat, but yet it killed 
the charger. Bustle, boys!” 

By this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the 


morning, and from all sides Sir Daniel’s men poured — 


into the main street and formed before the inn. They 
had slept upon their arms, with chargers saddled, and 


34. THE BLACK ARROW _ 


in ten minutes five-score men-at-arms and archers, _ 


cleanly equipped and briskly disciplined, stood ranked 
and ready. The chief part were in Sir Daniel’s livery, 
murrey and blue, which gave the greater show to their 
array. The best armed rode first; and away out of 
sight, at the tail of the column, came the sorry rein- 
forcement of the night before. Sir Daniel looked with 
pride along the line. 

‘Here be the lads to serve you in a pinch,” he said. 

“They are pretty men, indeed,” replied the mes- 
senger. “It but augments my sorrow that ye had not 
marched the earlier.” 

“Well,” said the knight, ““‘what would ye? The be- 
ginning of a feast and the end of a fray, sir mes- 
senger ;’ and he mounted into his saddle. “Why! how 
now!” he cried. ‘John! Joanna! Nay, by the sacred 
rood! where is she? Host, where is that girl?” 

“Girl, Sir Daniel?” cried the landlord. ‘Nay, sir, I 
saw no girl.” 

“Boy, then, dotard!” cried the knight. ‘“‘Could ye 
not see it was a wench? She in the murrey-coloured 
mantle—she that broke her fast with water, rozue— 


- where is she?” 


“Nay, the saints bless us! Master John, ye called 


: ue him,” said the host. ‘Well, I thought none evil. Heis 


gone. I saw jim—her—l saw her in the stable a good 
hour agone; ’a was saddling a grey horse.’’ 

“Now, by the rood!” cried Sir Daniel, “the wench 
was worth five hundred pound to me and more.’ 

“Sir knight,” observed the messenger, with bitter- 
ness, “‘while that ye are here, roaring for five hundred 
pounds, the realm of England is elsewhere being lost 
and won.” 

“It is well said,” replied Sir Daniel. “Selden, fall 
me out with six cross-bowmen; hunt me her down. I 
care not what it cost; but at my returning, let me find 


i her at the Moat. House. Be it upon your head. And 


now, sir messenger, we march.” 
And the troop broke into a good trot, and Selden 
and his six men were left behind upon the street of 


_ Kettley, with the staring villagers. 


CHAPTER If 
IN THE FEN 


gan to ride down into the fen upon his homeward 

way. The sky was all blue! the jolly wind blew loud 
and steady; the windmill-sails were spinning; and the 
willows over all the fen rippling and whitening like a 
field of corn. He had been all night in the saddle, but 
his heart was good and his body sound, and he rode 
right merrily. 

The path went down and down into the marsh, till 
he lost sight of all the neighbouring landmarks, but 
Kettley windmill on the knoll behind him, and the eX-— 
treme top of Tunstall Forest far before. On either hand 
‘there were great fields of blowing reeds and willows, 
pools of water shaking in the wind, and treacherous 
bogs,.as green as emerald, to tempt and to betray the 
traveller. The path lay almost straight through the 
morass. It was already very ancient; its foundation 
had been laid by Roman soldiery; in the lapse of ages 
much of it had sunk, and every here and there, for a 
few hundred yards, it lay submerged below the stag- 
nant waters of the fen. 

About a mile from Kettley, Dick came to one such 
break in the plain line of causeway, where the reeds 
and willows grew dispersedly like little islands and 
confused the eye. The gap, besides, was more than 
usually long; it was a place where any strangen might 
come readily to mischief; and Dick bethought him, 
‘with something like a pang, of the lad whom he had 
so imperfectly directed. As for himself, one look back- 
ward to where the windmill-sails were turning black 
against the blue of heaven—one look forward to the 
high ground of Tunstall Forest, and he was sufficiently 


35 


T was near six in the May morning when Dick be- 


- 86~=~=“‘“‘é‘T AE BLACK ARROW 


directed anid held straight on, the water washing to. . 


_ his horse’s knees, as safe as on a highway. 
 Half-way across, and when he had already sighted! a 
the path rising high and dry upon the farther side, © 


_ he was aware of a great splashing on his right, and saw © 
a grey horse, sunk to its belly in the mud, and still spas- © 


modically struggling. Instantly, as though it had ~ 
divined the neighbourhood of help, the poor beast be- — 
gan to neigh most piercingly. It rolled, meanwhile, — 


a blood-shot eye, insane with terror; and asit sprawled — 


ae wallowing in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose : 


and buzzed about it in the air. 

“Alack!’ thought Dick, “can the poor lad have per- 
ished? There is his horse, for certain—a brave grey! 
_ Nay, comrade, if thou criest to me so piteously, I will — 

do all man can to help thee. Shalt not lie there to § 
drown by inches!” q 

And he made ready his crossbow, and put a quarrel 4 
through the creature’s head. 

Dick rode on after this act of rugged mercy, some- 
what sobered in spirit, and looking closely about him — 
for any sign of his less happy predecessor in the way. ~ 

“TI would I had dared to tell him further,” he 
thought; “for I fear he has miscarried in the slough.” 

And just as he was so thinking, a voice cried upon 
_ his name from the causeway side, and looking over his 
shoulder, he saw the lad’s face peering from a clump 
of reeds. 

“Are ye there?” he said, reining in. “Ye lay so 


- elose among the reeds that I had passed you by. Isaw | 


-your horse bemired, and put him from his agony; 
which, by my sooth! an ye had been a more merciful © 
rider, ye had done yourself. But come forth out of | 


your hiding. Here be none to trouble you.” 


“Nay, good boy, I have no arms, nor skill to use them 
if I had,” replied the other, stepping forth upon the 
pathway. 

“‘Why call me ‘boy’ ?” cried Dick. “‘Y’ are not, I trow, 
the elder of us twain.” a 

“Good Master Shelton,” said the other, “prithee for- ; 


give me. I have none the least intention to offend. 


THE BLACK ARROW 37 


Rather I would in every way beseech your gentleness 
and favour, for I am now worse bested than ever, hav- 
ing lost my way, my cloak, and my poor horse. To 
have a riding-rod and spurs, and never a horse to sit 
upon! And before all,” he added, looking ruefully upon © 
his clothes, “before all, to be so sorrily besmirched!’”’ 

“Tut!” cried Dick. “Would ye mind a ducking? 
pee of wound or dust of travel—that’s a man’s adorn- 
ment.”’ 

“Nay, then, I like him better plain,” observed the 


“Take my horse and I will run awhile.” 


lad. “But, prithee, how shall I do?. Prithee, good 
Master Richard, help me with your good counsel. If I 
come not safe to Holywood, I am undone.” 

“Nay,” said Dick, dismounting, “I will give more 
than counsel. Take my horse, and I will run awhile, 
and when I am weary we shall change again, that so, 
riding and running, both may go the speedier.” » 

So the change was made, and they went forward as 
briskly as they durst on the uneven causeway, Dick 
with his hand upon the other’s knee. 

“How call ye your name?” asked Dick. 

“Call me John Matcham,”’ replied the lad. K 

“And what make ye to Holywood?” Dick continued. 

“T seek sanctuary from a man that would oppress 


age THE BLACK ARROW _ 


me,” was the answer. “The good Abbott of Holywood 
is a strong pillar to the weak.” 
“And how came ye with Sir Daniel, Master Match- 
am?” pursued Dick. 

“Nay,” cried the other, “‘by the abuse of force! He 


hath taken me by violence from my own place; dressed . | 


me in these weeds; ridden with me till my heart was 
sick; gibed me till I could ’a’ wept; and when certain 
of my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps 
me in the rear to stand their shot! I was even grazed 
in the right foot, and walk but lamely. Nay, there 
shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!’ 
“Would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?”’ said 

Dick. “’Tis a valiant knight,:and hath a hand of iron. 
An he guessed I had made or meddled with your flight, 
it would go sore with me.” 

“Ay, poor boy,” returned the other. “Y’ are his 
ward, I know it. By the same token, so am J, or so he 
saith; or else he hath bought my marriage— I wot not 
rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me by.” 

“Boy again!’ said Dick. 

“Nay, then, shall I call you girl, good Richard?’ 
asked Matcham. 

“Never a girl for me,” returned Dick. “I do abjure 
the crew of them!” batt 

“Ye speak boyishly,’’ said the other. “Ye think more 
of them than ye pretend.” 

“Not I,” said Dick, stoutly. ‘They come not in my 
mind. A plague of them, say I! Give me to hunt and 
to fight and to feast, and to live with jolly foresters. 
I never heard of a maid yet that was for any service, 
Save one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a 
witch and the wearing of men’s clothes in spite of 
nature.” 

Master Matcham crossed himself with fervour, and 
appeared to pray. 

“What make ye?” Dick inquired. 

“I pray for her spirit,” answered the other, with a 
_ somewhat troubled voice. 

“For a witch’s spirit?” Dick cried. “But pray for 
her, an ye list; she was the best wench in Europe, was 


— ee eee 


a — ee 


| 
f 
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os 
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THE BLACK ARROW 39 


this Joan of Are. Old Appleyard the archer ran from 
her, he said, as if she had been Mahoun. Nay, she was 
a brave wench,” 

“Well, but, good Master Richard,” resumed Match- 
am, “‘an ye like maids so little, y’ are no true natural 
‘man; for God made them twain by intention, and 
brought true love into the world, to be man’s hope and 
woman’s comfort.” 

“Faugh!” said Dick. “Y’ are a milk-sopping baby, 
so to harp on women. An ye think I be no true man, get 
down upon the path, and whether at fists, backsword, 
or bow and arrow, I will prove my manhood on your 
body.” 

“Nay, I am no fighter,” said Matcham, eagerly. “I 
meant no tittle of offence. I meant but pleasantry. 
And if I talk of women, it is because I heard ye were to 
marry.” 

“TI to marry!” Dick exclaimed. ‘‘Well, it . the first 
I hear of it. And with whom was I to marry?’ 

“One Joan Sedley,” replied Matcham, colouring. “It 
was Sir Daniel’s doing; he hath money to gain upon 
both sides; and, indeed, I have heard the poor wench 
bemoaning herself pitifully of the match. It seems 
she is of your mind, or else distasted to the bride- 
groom.’ 

“Well! marriage is like death, it comes to all,” said 
Dick, with resignation. “And she bemoaned herself rk 
I pray ye now, see there how shuttle-witted are these 
girls: to bemoan herself before that she had seen me? 
Do I bemoan myself? NotI. AnI be to marry, I will 
marry dry-eyed! but if ye know her, prithee, of what 

favour is she? fair or foul? And is she shrewish or 
pleasant?” 
F “Nay, what matters it?’ said Matcham. “An y’ are 
_ to marry, ye can but marry. What matters foul or 
| fair? These be but toys. Y’ are no milksop, Master 
Richard; ye will wed with dry eyes, anyhow.” 

“It is well said,” replied Shelton. “Little I reck.’”’ 

“Your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord,” said 
Matcham 

“She ‘shall have the lord Heaven made her for,” re- 


40 f THE BLACK ARROW 
turned Dick. “I trow there be worse as well as better.” 

“Ay, the poor wench!” cried the other. 

“And why so poor?” asked Dick. 

“To wed a man of wood,’ replied his companion. 
*O me, for a wooden husband!’ 

“T think I be a man of wood, indeed,” said Dick, “to 
trudge afoot the while you ride my horse; but it is 
good wood, I trow.” 

“Good Dick, forgive me,” cried the other. “Nay, y’ 
are the best heart in England; I but laughed. Forgive 
me now, sweet Dick.” | 

“Nay, no fool words,” returned Dick, a little em- 
barrassed by his companion’s warmth. “No harm is 
done. I am not touchy, praise the saints.” 

And at that moment the wind, which was blowing 
straight behind them as they went, brought them the 
rough fiourish of Sir Daniel’s trumpeter. 

“Hark!” said Dick, “the tucket soundeth.” 

“Ay,” said Matcham, “they have found my flight, 
and now I am unhorsed!” and he became pale as death. 

“Nay, what cheer!” returned Dick. ‘‘Y’ have a long 
start, and we are near the ferry. And itis I, methinks, 
that am unhorsed.” 

“‘Alack, I shall be taken!” cried the fugitive. ‘Dick, 
kind Dick, beseech ye help me but a little!” 

“Why, now what aileth thee?” said Dick. “Methinks 
I help you very patently. But my heart is sorry for 
so spiritless a fellow! And see ye here, John Matcham 
—sith John Matcham is your name—I, Richard Shel- 
ton, tide what betideth, come what may, will see you 
safe in Holywood. The saints so do to me again if I 
default you. Come, pick me up a good heart, Sir 
Whiteface. The way betters here; spur me the horse. 
Go faster! faster! Nay, mind not for me; I can run 
like a deer.” 

So, with the horse trotting hard, and Dick running 
easily alongside, they crossed the remainder of the fen, 
- and came out upon the banks of the river by the ferry- 
man’s hut. 


CHAPTER Iit 
THE FEN FERRY 


HE river Till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, 

oozing out of fens, and in this part of its course 
| it strained among some score of willow-covered, 
marshy islets. 

It was a dingy stream: but upon this bright, spirited 
morning everything was become beautiful. The wind 
and the martens broke it up into innumerable dimples; 
and the reflection of the sky was scattered over all the 
surface in crumbs of smiling blue. | 
- A creek ran up to meet the path, and close under the 
bank the ferryman’s hut lay snugly. It was of wattle © 
and clay, and the grass grew green upon the roof. 
- Dick went to the door and opened it. Within, upon 
a foul old russet cloak, the ferryman lay stretched and 
shivering; a great hulk of a man but lean and shaken 
by the country fever. ih 

“Hey, Master Shelton,” he said, ‘‘be ye for the ferry? 
Til times, ill times! Look to yourself. There is a fel- 
lowship abroad. Ye were better turn round on your 
two heels and try the bridge.” 

“Nay; time’s in the saddle,” answered Dick. “Time 

will ride, Hugh Ferryman. I am hot in haste.” 

“A wilful man!” returned the ferryman, rising. “An 

ye win safe to the Moat House, y’ have done lucky; but 

I say no more.” And then catching sight of Matcham, 

“Who be this?” he asked, as he paused, blinking, on 

the threshold of his cabin. 

| ine is my kinsman, Master Matcham,” answered 
ick. 

“Give ye good day, good ferryman,” said Matcham, 
who had dismounted, and now came forward, leading 
the horse. ‘“‘Launch me your boat, I prithee; we are 


Al 


{ TR, ee ah om f ‘ PUG Vas up ua USHER CaM Senate pia i ON la At as 
Pe FA GAN Lh A Ve abe tle hat “tal 
- q : xy ea 
‘ yoke 


ON THE BLACK ARROW 


sore in haste.” 

The gaunt ferryman continued staring. 
“By the mass!” he cried at length, and laughed with 
open throat. 

_. Matcham coloured to his neck and winced; and Dick, 
with an angry countenance, put his hand on the 

-lout’s shoulder. 
ne “How now, churl!” he cried. ‘Fall to thy business, — 

and leave mocking thy betters.” 

Hugh Ferryman grumblingly undid his boat, and 
_ shoved it a little forth into the deep water. Then Dick 

led in the horse, and Matcham followed. 

“Ye be mortal small made, master,” said Hugh, with 
a wide grin; “something o’ the wrong model, belike. 
Nay, Master Shelton, I am for you,” he added, getting 
to his oars. “A cat may look ata king. I did but take 
a shot of the eye at Master Matcham.” 

cae no more words,” said Dick. “Bend me your 
back.” 

They were by that time at the mouth of the creek, 
and the view opened up and down the river. Every-. 
where it was enclosed with islands. Clay banks were 
falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dip-— 
ping and piping. There was no sign of man in the | : 
labyrinth of waters. 

“My master,” said the ferryman, keeping the boat | 
steady with one oar, “I have a shrewd guess that John- : 
a-Fenne is on the island. He bears me a black grudge 
to all Sir Daniel’s. How if I turned me up stream and 
landed you an arrow-fight above the path? Ye were 
best not meddle with John Fenne.”’ q 

‘How, then? is he of this company?” asked Dick. | 

‘Nay, mum is the word,” said Hugh. “But I would 
go up water, Dick. How if Master Matcham came by 
an arrow?” and he laughed again. 

‘“‘Be it so, Hugh,” answered Dick. 

“Took ye, then,” pursued Hugh. “Sith it shall go 
be, unsling me your crossbow—so: now make it ready | 
—g200d3 place me a, quarrel. Ay, keep it so, and looks 
upon me grimly.” 4 

‘What meaneth this?” asked Dick. 


THE BLACK ARROW PN Wt 
“Why, my master, if I steal you across, it must be © 
under force or fear,” replied the ferryman; “for else, 
if John Fenne got wind of it, he were like to prove my > 
most distressful neighbour.” 
“Do these churls ride so roughly?” Dick inquired. 
“Do they command Sir Daniel’s own ferry?” Oh 
“Nay,” whispered the ferryman, winking. “Mark — 
me! Sir Daniel shall down. His timeis out. Heshall — 
down. Mum!” And he bent over his oars. | 
They pulled a long way up the river, turned the tail 
of an island, and came softly down a narrow channel 
next the opposite bank. Then Hugh held water in 
midstream, 
“T must land here among the willows,” he said. | 
“Here is no path but willow swamps and quag- 
mires,’ answered Dick. ye 
“Master Shelton,” replied Hugh, “I dare not take a 
ye nearer down, for your own sake now. He watcheth | 


me the ferry, lying on his bow. All that go by and — 


owe Sir Daniel goodwill, he shooteth down like rab- 
bits. I heard him swear it by the rood. An I had not 


known you of old days—ay, and from so high upward — 


—I would ’a’ let you go on; but for old days’ remem- 


brance, and because ye had this toy with you that’s not 
fit for wounds or warfare, I did risk my two poor ears ~ 


to have you over whole. Content you; I can no more, — 
on my salvation!” 
Hugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, when 
there came a great shout from among the willows on 
the island, and sounds followed as of a strong man. 
breasting roughly through the wood. | 
“A murrain!” cried Hugh. “‘He was on the upper — 
island all the while!” He pulled straight for the shore. 
“Threat me with your bow, good Dick; threat me with 
it plain,” he added. “I have tried to save your skins, — 
Save you mine!” 3 
The boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with 


a crash. Matcham, pale, but steady and alert, atasign — 
ia Dick, ran along the thwarts and leaped ashore; | 


Dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought to follow, — 
but what with the animal’s bulk, and what with the 


naa THE BLACK ARROW 
; ; closeness of the thicket, both stuck fast. The horse 


_ neighed and trampled ; and the boat, which was swing- 


- = 


iL ing in an eddy, came on and off and pitched with 


violence. 
“It may not be, Hugh; here is no landing,” cried 
Dick; but he still struggled valiantly with the obstinate 


‘thicket and the startled animal. 


A tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, 


a long-bow in his hand. Dick saw him for an instant, 


- with the corner of his eye, bending the bow with a 


ah great effort, his face crimson with hurry. 


“Who goes?” he shouted. “Hugh, who goes?” 

“Tis Master Shelton, John,” replied the ferryman. 

“Stand, Dick Shelton!” bawled the man upon the 
island. ‘Ye shall have no hurt, upon the rood! Stand! 


Back out, Hugh Ferryman.” 


Dick cried a taunting answer. 


pre ‘‘Nay, then, ye shall go afoot,” returned the man: 


and he let drive an arrow. 
The horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in agony 


“ and terror; the boat capsized, and next moment all > 
_ were struggling in the eddies of the river. 


hen Dick came up, he was within a yard of the 


o bank: and before his eyes were clear, his hand had 


closed on something firm and strong that instantly 


began to drag him forward. It was the riding-rod, 


u that Matcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging 
_ willow, had opportunely thrust into his grasp. 


“By the mass!” cried Dick as he was helped ashore, 
“that makes a life I owe you. I swim like a cannon 


: ball.”?’ And he turned instantly towards the island. 


Midway over, Hugh Ferryman was swimming with 


ie his upturned boat, while John-a-Fenne, furious at the 


 ill-fortune of his shot, bawled him to hurry. 


“Come, Jack,” said Shelton, “run for it! Ere Hugh 


ean hale his barge across, or the pair of ’em can get it 
righted, we may be out of cry.” 


And adding example to his words, he began to run, 


a dodging among the willows, and in marshy places 
 jeaping from tussock to tussock. He had no time to 
_ look for his direction; -all he could do was to turn his 


hte Ma USCA Sal Tae AN ia ate ein plc EL PZ eh epee 
LTDA SRL bet HA VNTR eg 
Keay Or LM a? eA NY 
MAD Ora AN aL ae Me: it i 
AL RG dS RAR AR ARS lara ite AS AE 


i 
4 
‘ 


THE BLACK ARROW 45 


back upon the river, and put all his heart to running. 

Presently, however, the ground began to rise, which 
showed him he was still in the right way, and soon 
after they came forth upon a slope of solid turf, where | 
elms began to mingle with the willows. 


But here Matcham, who had been dragging far into — "i 


the rear, threw himself fairly down. 

“Leave me, Dick!’ he cried, pantingly; “I can no 
more.” 

Dick turned, and came back to where his com- 
panion lay. 

“Nay, Jack, leave tiiee!” he cried. “That were a 
knave’s trick, to be sure, when ye risked a shot and a 
ducking, ay, and a drowning too, to save my life. 
Drowning, in sooth; for why I did not pull you in 
along with me, the saints alone can tell!” 

“Nay,” said Matcham, “I would ’a’ saved us both, 
good Dick, for I can swim.” 

“Can ye so?” cried Dick, with open eyes. It was 
the one manly accomplishment of which he was him- 
self incapable. In the order of the things that he ad- 
‘Imired, next to having killed a man in single fight came 


swimming. ‘Well,’ he said, “here isalessontodespise 


no man. I promised to care for you as far as Holy- 
wood, and, by the rood, Jack, y’ are more capable to 
care for me.” 

“Well, Dick, we’re friends now,” said Matcham. 

“Nay, 1 never was unfriends,”’ answered Dick. “Y’ | 
are a brave lad in your way, albeit something of a 
milksop, too. I never met your like before this day. © 
But, prithee, fetch back your breath, and let us on. 
Here is no place for chatter.” 

“My foot hurts shrewdly,” said Matcham. 

“Nay, I had forgot your foot,” returned Dick. ‘Well, 
we must go the gentlier. I would I knew rightly where 


we were. I have clean lost the path; yet that may be © i 
for the better, too. An they watch the ferry, they 


watch the path, belike, as well. I would Sir Daniel 
were back with two-score men; he would sweep me 
these rascals as the wind sweeps leaves. Come, Jack, 
lean ye on my shoulder, ye poor shrew. Nay, y’ are not 


Pg ae SRY UN LY oS D8) eer nad i) ii ayes we SN ee 
PENI NN, eth i intl say aN Ga St ATA CC LAS 
Nat he ht ean nat i Salle \ee ty 

hy Be L, al aye 


AG THE BLACK ARROW 


tall enough. What age are ye, for a wager ?—twelve?” 

“Nay, 1 am sixteen,” said Matcham. 

“Y’ are poorly grown to height then,” anowered 
‘Dick. “But take my hand. We shall go softly, never 

fear. I owe you a life; 1 am a good repayer, Jack, of 

good or evil.” 

| They began to go forward up the slope. 

ee We must hit the road, early or late,” continued 
_ Dick; “‘and then for a fresh start. By the mass! but 
y’ ave a rickety hand, Jack. If I shad a hand like that, 
I would think shame. I tell you,’’ he went on, with a 
sudden chuckle, “I swear by the mass I believe Hugh 
_.. Ferryman took you for a maid.” 

“Nay, never!” cried the other, colouring high. 

“°A did, though, for a wager!’ Dick exclaimed. 
“Small blame to him. Ye look liker maid than man; 
and I tell ye more—y’ are a strange-looking rogue for 
a boy; but for a hussy, Jack, ye would be right fair—ye 

would. Ye would be well-favoured for a wench.” 
“Well,” said Matcham, “ye know right well that I 
am none.” 
“Nay, I know that; I do but jest,” said Digk. “Ye'll 
be a man before your mother, Jack. What cheer, my 
bully! Ye shall strike shrewd strokes. Now, which, 
I marvel, of you or me, shall be first knighted, Jack? 
for knighted I shall be, or die for ’t. ‘Sir Richard 
Shelton, Knight’: it soundeth bravely. But ‘Sir John 
Matcham’ soundeth not amiss.” 

“Prithee, Dick, stop till I drink,” said the other, 
pausing where a little clear spring welled out of the 
slope into a gravelled basin no bigger than a pocket. 
“And O, Dick, if I might come by anything to eat !— 
my very heart aches with hunger.” 

“Why, fool, did ye not eat at Kettley?” said Dick. 

“I made a vow—it was a sin I had been led into,” 
stammered Matcham; “but now, if it were but dry 
bread, I would eat it greedily.”’ 

“Sit ye, then, and eat,” said Dick, “while that I 
scout a little forward for the road.” And he took a 
- wallet from his girdle, wherein were bread and pieces 
_ of dry bacon, and, while Matcham fell heartily to, 


ee ae Se ee 


(eee ee oe ee — 


' 
| 
4 
| 
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i 
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PG PRE ERTL PANEL NERD SOP CL he dia) ROP Rg RW gir lage Tue thy 


‘ 
eye 


THE BLACK ARROW AT 
struck farther forth among the trees. 


A little beyond there was a dip in the ground, where _ 


a streamlet soaked among dead leaves; and beyond 
that, again, the trees were better grown and stood 


wider, and oak and beech began to take the place of a 


willow and elm. The continued tossing and pouring | 


‘of the wind among the leaves sufficiently concealed 


the sounds of his footsteps on the mast; it was for 


the ear what a moonless night is to the eye; but for _ 


all that Dick went cautiously, slipping from one big 
trunk to another, and looking sharply about him as he 
went. Suddenly a doe passed like a shadow, through 
the underwood in front of him, and he paused, dis- 
gusted at the chance. This part of the wood had 
been certainly deserted, but now that the poor deer 
had run, she was like a messenger he should have sent — 
before him to announce his coming; and instead of 
pushing further, he turned him to the nearest well- 
grown tree, and rapidly began to climb. 

Luck had served him well. The oak on which he 
had mounted was one of the tallest in that quarter of 


the wood, and easily out-topped its neighbours by a 


fathom and a half; and when Dick had clambered into ~ 
the topmost fork and clung there, swinging dizzily in — 
the great wind, he saw behind him the whole fenny 


plain as far as Kettley, and the Till wandering among ~ 


woody islets, and in front of him the white line of 


high-road winding through the forest. The boat had ~ 


been righted—it was even now midway on the ferry. 
Beyond that there was no sign of man, nor aught movy- 
ing but the wind. He was about to descend, when, 


taking a last view, his eye lit upon a string of moving _ 


points about the middle of the fen. Plainly a small 
troop was threading the causeway, and that at a good 


pace; and this gave him some concern as he shinned 
vigorously down the trunk and returned across the — 


wood for his companion, 


CHAPTER IV 
A GREENWOOD COMPANY 
ATCHAM was well rested and revived; and 


the two lads, winged by what Dick had seen, 
hurried through the remainder of the out- 


a ‘wood, crossed the road in safety, and began to mount 


into the high ground of Tunstall Forest. The trees 
grew more and more in groves, with heathy places in 


Y . between, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews. The 
_ ground became more and more uneven, full of pits and 
- hillocks. And with every step of the ascent the wind 


Ms still blew the shriller, and the trees bent before the 
gusts like fishing-rods. 
They had just entered one of the clearings, when 


- Dick suddenly clapped down upon his face among the 


brambles, and began to crawl slowly backward towards 
the shelter of the grove. Matcham, in great bewilder- 


ment, for he could see no reason for this flight, still 


imitated his companion’s course; and it was not until 
_. they had gained the harbour of a thicket that he turned 
and begged him to explain. 
We For all reply, Dick pointed with his finger. - 

At the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above 


the neighbouring wood, and planted its black shock of 


| _ foliage clear against the sky. For about fifty feet 


hi ~ above the ground the trunk grew straight and solid 
~~ like a column. At that Jevel, it split into two massive 
_ boughs; and in the fork, like a mast-headed seaman, 


_ there stood a man in a green tabard, spying far and 
_. wide. The sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand 
he shaded his eyes to look abroad, and he kept slowly 


: rolling his head from side to side with the regularity 
of a machine. | 


The lads exchanged glances. 
43 


Wy } { 


“Let us try to the left,” said Dick. “We had near — 


fallen foully, Jack.” 


Ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten i 


path. 


remarked. “‘Where goeth me this track?” 
“Let us even try,” said Matcham. 


A few yards further the path came to the top of a — 1 


SEU ans i Phat) HUANG RRM RAL EM gah MAC a ER ROLLE 


“Here is a piece of forest that I know not,” Dick 


“THE BLACK ARROW Ag 


gee age oa Pe Thay ee 
an i ee 


ridge and began to go down abruptly into a cup-shaped 
hollow. At the foot, out of a thick wood of flowering | 
hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as 
if by fire, and a single tail chimney marked the ruins Ny 


of a house. 
“What may this be?” whispered Matcham. 


“Nay, by the mass, I know not, ” answered Dick. : 


“T am all at sea. Let us go warily.” 


With beating hearts, they descended through the ae 
hawthorns. Here and there they passed signs of re- 
cent cultivation; fruit-trees and pot-herbs ran wild 
among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the grass; 
it seemed they were treading what once had been a 
garden. Yet a little farther and they came forth before _ 


the ruins of the house. 


It had been a pleasant mansion and a strong. A ary i 
ditch was dug deep about it; but it was now choked 
with masonry, and bridged by afallen rafter. Thetwo 
farther walls still stood, the sun shining through their — 
empty windows; but the remainder of the building had  _ 


collapsed, and now lay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed — 


with fire. Already in the interior a few plants were _— 


springing green among the chinks. 


“Now I bethink me,” whispered Dick, “this must be My 


Grimstone. It was a hold of one Simon Malmesbury; 


Sir Daniel was his bane! "Twas Bennet Hatch that — 
burned it, now five years agone. In sooth, ’twas pity, 


for it was a fair house.” 


Down in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was 4 
both warm and still, and Matcham, laying one hand: i 


upon Dick’s arm, held up a warning finger. 
“Hist! he said. 
Then came a strange sound, breaking on the quiet. 


a An iron cauldron steamed and bubbled, and close by, in an atts- 
tude of listening, a battered-looking man stood poised. 


if It was twice repeated ere they recognized its nature. 
It was the sound of a big man clearing his throat; and 
just then a hoarse, untuneful voice broke into singing: 


“Then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws: 


“What make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood 
; shaws?’ 


And Gamelyn made answer—he looked never adown: 


0, they ih need to walk in wood that ay not walk in 
town > 9? 


_. The singer paused, a faint click of iron followed and 

- then silence. 

The two lads stood looking at each other. Who- 

ever he might be, their invisible neighbour was just 

: mp beyond the ruin. And suddenly the colour came into 

ie Netsaeeile’ s face, and next moment he had crossed the 
_ fallen rafter, and was climbing cautiously on the huge 


THE BLACK ARROW ( 51 


pile of lumber that filled the interior of the roofless 
house. Dick would have withheld him, had he been in 
_ time; as it was, he was fain to follow. 

Right in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had 
fallen crosswise, and protected a clear space no larger 
than a pew in church. Into this the lads silently low- 
ered themselves. There they were perfectly concealed, 
and through an arrow loophole commanded a view 
upon the farther side. 

Peering through this, they were struck stiff with 
terror at their predicament. To retreat was impos- 
sible; they scarce dared to breathe. Upon the very 
margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they 
crouched, an iron cauldron bubbled and steamed above 
_ a glowing fire; and close by, in an attitude of listening, 
as though he had caught some sound of their clamber- 
ing among the ruins, a tall, red-faced, battered-looking 
man stood poised, an iron spoon in his right hand, a 
horn and a formidable dagger at his belt. Plainly this 
was the singer; plainly he had been stirring the caul- 
dron, when some incautious step among the lumber had 
fallen upon his ear. A little further off another man 
lay slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butter- 
fly hovering above his face. All this was in a clearing 
white with daisies; and at the extreme verge a bow, a 
sheaf of arrows, and a part of a deer’s carcase hung 
upon a flowering hawthorn. 

Presently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of 
attention, raised the spoon to his mouth, tasted its 
contents, nodded, and then fell again to stirring and 
singing. 


“‘Q, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in 
town,’” 


he croaked, taking up his song where he had left it. 


“Oh, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do, 
But haa we meet with the good king’s deer to shoot a shaft 
in 
Still as he sang, he took from time to time another 
spoonful of the broth, blew upon it, and tasted it, with 
all the airs of an experienced cook. At length, appar- 


Vy CRED o Laie RR ALC ALS WIT iow EOE Te OPA a rk” Bey PR 
ON RCS We RUS a an uur ea AR ME CaN 


“THE BLACK ARROW | 


a 


horn from his girdle, he blew three modulated calls. 
The other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed away 


the butterfly, and looked about him. 


“How now, brother?” he said. “Dinner?” 
_ Ay, sot,” replied the cook, “dinner it is, and a dry 
dinner, too, with neither ale nor bread. But there is 


little pleasure in the greenwood now; time was when a 


good fellow could live here like a mitred abbot, set aside 
the rain and white frosts; he had his heart’s desire 
both of ale and wine. But now are men’s spirits dead, 
and this John Amend-All, save us and guard us! but a 


4 stuffed booby to scare crows withal.” 


“Nay,” returned the other, “y’ are too set on meat 


and drinking, Lawless. Bide mh a bit; the good time 


cometh.” 


4 AEA he judged the mess was ready, for, taking hen 4 


‘Look ye,” returned the cook, “I have even waited © 


for this good time sith that I was so high. I have 
been a grey friar; I have been a king’s archer; I 
have been a shipman, and sailed the salt seas; and 
I have been in greenwood before this, forsooth! 


- and shot the king’s deer. What cometh of it? Naught! 


I were better to have bided in the cloister. John 
Abbot availeth more than Amend-All. By’r Lady! 


here they come.” 
One after another, tall likely fellows began to stroll . 


into the lawn. Each as he came produced a knife and 


a horn cup, helped himself from the cauldron, and sat 


down upon the grass to eat. They were very variously 


equipped and armed; some in rusty smocks, and with 


nothing but a knife and an old bow; others in the 
height of forest gallantry, all in Lincoln green, both 


hood and jerkin, with dainty peacock arrows in their — 


belts, a horn upon a baldrick, and a sword and dagger 


ie _at their sides. They came in the silence of hunger, and 
_ gearce growled a salutation, but fell instantly to meat. 


_ There were, perhaps, a score of them already gath- 


_ ered, when a sound of suppressed cheering arose close 
_ by among the hawthorns, and immediately after five or 
-  gsix woodmen carrying a ’ stretcher debouched upon the 

lawn. A tall, lusty fellow, somewhat grizzled, and as 


THE BLACK ARROW Mars! 


_ brown as a smoked ham, walked before them with an 
air of some authority, his bow at his back, a bright 
boar-spear in his hand. 

“Lads!” he cried, “good fellows all, and my right | 
merry friends, y’ have sung this while on a dry whistle 
and lived at little ease. But what said I ever? Abide 
Fortune constantly; she turneth, turneth swift. And. 
lo! here is her firstling—even that good creature, ale!” 

There was a murmur of applause as the bearers Set 

down the stretcher and displayed a goodly cask. 
“And now haste ye, boys,’ the man continued. 
“There is work toward. A handful of archers are but 
now come to the ferry; murrey and blue is their wear; 
they are our butts—they shall all taste arrows—no 
man of them shall struggle through this wood. For, 


lads, we are here some fifty strong, each man of us ‘ 


most foully wronged; for some they have lost lands, 
and some friends; and some have been outlawed—all 
oppressed! Who, then, hath done this evil? Sir Daniel, 
by the rood! Shall he then profit? shall he sit snug in 
our houses? shall he till our fields? shall he suck the 


bone he robbed us of? I trow not. He getteth him — ‘ 


strength at law; he gaineth cases; nay, there is one 
case he shall not gain—I have a writ here at my belt 
that, please the saints, shall conquer him.” 

Lawless the cook was by this time already at his sec- 
ond horn of ale. He raised it, as if to pledge the 
speake 


r. Paty 
“Master Ellis,” he said, “‘y’ are for vengeance—well ' 


it becometh you!—but your poor brother o’ the green- 
wood, that had never lands to lose nor friends to think 
upon, looketh rather, for his poor part, to the profit 
of the thing. He had liever a gold noble and a pottle 
of canary wine than all the vengeances in purgatory.” 

“Lawless,” replied the other, “to reach the Moat — 
House, Sir Daniel must pass the forest. We shall 
make that passage dearer, pardy, than any battle. | 
Then, when he has got to earth with such ragged 


handful as escapeth us—all his great friends fallen ) 


and fled away, and none to give him aid—we shall 
beleaguer that old fox about, and great shall be the ~ 


RAT Hoe RUNS aN be Ce Sane THN. AR ican tal CaN aA RAN eh TaN ORAL apt wha. 
Nh AE 30) : be RS aa ary | Ath) A ames 16 Ue a a! cP OY Oy oe \ 

+] aL] ht * ! f 7 j 3 Vy ig hah Rares > 4: eS | « oe ees 

i i I ke aw \ Ms 


Sh Bas oe Enea THE BLACK ARROW , 
fall of him. ’Tis a fat buck; he will make a dinner — 
for us all.” | 

“Ay,” returned Lawless, “I have eaten many of these 
dinners beforehand; but ‘the cooking of them is hot 
work, good Master Ellis. And meanwhile what do we? — 
We make black arrows, we write rhymes, and we 
drink fair cold water, that discomfortable drink.” 

“Y’ are untrue, Will Lawless. Ye still smell of the 
Grey Friars’ buttery; greed is your undoing,” answered 
Ellis. “We took twenty pounds from Appleyard. We 
took seven marks from the messenger last night. A 
day ago we had fifty from the merchant.” 

“And to-day,” said one of the men, “I stopped a fat 

-pardoner riding apace for Holywood. Here is his 
purse.” 

Ellis counted the contents. er 

“Five-score shillings!” he grumbled. “Fool, he had 
more in his sandal, or stitched into the tippet. Y’ are 
but a child, Tom Cuckow: ye have lost the fish.” 

But, for ‘all that, Ellis pocketed the purse with non- 
chalance. He stood leaning on his boar-spear, and 
looked round upon the rest. They, in various atti- 
tudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and liber- 
ally washed it down with ale. This was a good day; 
they were in luck; but business pressed, and they were 
speedy in their eating. The first comers had by this 
time even despatched their dinner. Some lay down > 
upon the grass and fell instantly asleep, like boa-con- 
strictors; others talked together, or overhauled their 
‘weapons; and one, whose humour was particularly gay, 

holding forth an ale-horn, began to sing: 


Bs “Here is no law in good green shaw, 
(Gi | Here is no lack of meat; 
4 *Tis merry and quiet, with deer for our diet, 
In summer, when all is sweet. 
we “Come winter again, with wind and rain— | 
f Come winter, with snow and sleet, 
Get home to your places, with hoods on your faces, 
And sit by the fire and eat.” 


ae All this while the two lads had listened and lain 
en close; only Richard had unslung his crossbow, and — 


THE BLACK ARROW Bb 


held ready in one hand the windac, or grappling-iron, 
that he used to bend it. Otherwise they had not dared 
to stir; and this scene of forest life had gone on before 
their eyes like a scene upon a theatre. But now there 
came a strange interruption. The tall chimney which 
 overtopped the remainder of the ruins rose right 
- above their hiding place. There came a whistle in the 
air, and then a sounding smack, and the fragments of 
a broken arrow fell about their ears. Some one from 
the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very 
_ sentinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow 
at the chimney-top. 

- Matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he 
_ instantly stifled, and even Dick started with surprise,. 
and dropped the windac from his fingers. But to the 
fellows on the lawn this shaft was an expected signal. 
They were all afoot together, tightening their belts, 
testing their bow-strings, loosening sword and dagger 
in the sheath. Ellis held up his hand; his face had sud- 
denly assumed a look of savage energy; the white of 
this eyes shone in his sun-brown face. 

“Lads,” he said, “ye know your places. Let not one 
man’s soul escape you. Appleyard was a whet before 
a meal; but now we go to table. I have three men 
whom I will bitterly avenge—Harry Shelton, Simon 
Malmesbury, and’—striking his broad bosom—‘ ‘and 
Ellis Duckworth, by the mass!” 

Another man came, red with hurry, through the 
thorns. 

“Tis not Sir Daniel!” he panted. “They are but 
seven. Is the arrow gone?” 

“It struck but now,” replied Ellis. 

“A murrain!” cried the messenger. ‘“‘Methought I 
heard it whistle. And I go dinnerless!” | 

In the space of a minute, some running, some walk- 
ing sharply, according as their stations were nearer or 
farther away, the men of the Black Arrow had all 
disappeared from the neighbourhood of the ruined 
house! and the cauldron, and the fire, which was now 
burning low, and the dead deer’s carcase on the haw- 
thorn, remained alone to testify they had been there. 


CHAPTER V | 
“BLOODY AS THE HUNTER” 


HE lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted 
on the wind. Then they arose, and with many 
an ache, for they were weary with constraint, 
clambered through the ruins, and recrossed the ditch 
upon the rafter. Matcham had picked up the windac 


and went first, Dick following stiffly, with his crossbow 
on his arm. 


‘And now,’ said Matcham, “forth to Tolwoudt 

“To Holywood!’ cried Dick, “when good fellows 
ior shot? Not I! I would see you hanged first, 
ac yy? : 

“Ye would leave me, would ye?” Matcham asked. 

“Ay, by my sooth!” returned Dick. “An I be not 
in time to warn these lads, I will go die with them. 


What! would ye have me leave my own men that I 


have lived among? I trow not! Give me my windac.” 


‘es 


But there was nothing further from Matcham’s 


‘mind 


“Dick,” he said, “ye sware before the saints that 


ye would see me safe to Holywood. Would ye be 


-forsworn? Would you desert me—a perjurer?” 


“Nay, I sware for the best,” returned Dick. “I 
meant it too; but now! But look ye, Jack, turn again 
with me. Let me but warn these men, and, if needs 


on ‘must, stand shot with them; then shall all be clear, 


and I will on again to Holywood and purge mine — 


ath.” : 
“Ye but deride me,’ answered Matcham. “These 


men ye go to succour are the same that hunt me to my 


= ruin,’ 


Dick scratched his head. “I cannot help it, Jack,” 
he said. ‘Here is no remedy. What would ye? Ye 


run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of 


56 


THE BLACK ARROW 57 


death. Death!” he added. “Think of it! What a 
‘murrain do ye keep me here for? Give me the windac. 
Saint George! shall they all die?” 

“Richard Shelton,’ said Matcham, looking him 
squarely in the face, “would ye, then, join party with 
Sir Daniel? Have ye not ears? Heard ye not this 
Ellis, what he said? or have ye no heart for your own 
kindly blood and the father that men slew? ‘Harry 
Shelton,’ he said; and Sir Harry Shelton was your 
father, as the sun shines in heaven.” 


“What would ye?” Dick cried again. “Would ye 


have me credit thieves?” 
“Nay, I have heard it before now,” returned Mat- 


cham. “The fame goeth currently, it was Sir Daniel © 


slew him. He slew him under oath; in his own house 
he shed the innocent blood. Heaven wearies for the 
avenging on’t; and you—the man’s son—ye go about 
to comfort and defend the murderer!” 
- “Jack,” cried the lad, “I know not. It may be; what © 
‘know I? But, see here: This man has bred me up 
and fostered me, and his men I have hunted with and 
played among; and to leave them in the hour of peril 
—Q, man, if I did that, I were stark dead to honour! — 
Nay, Jack, ye would not ask it; ye would not wish me 
to be base.” 
| “But your father, Dick?” said Matcham, somewhat 
wavering. “Your father? and your oath to me? Ye 
took the saints to witness.” 
“My father?” cried Shelton. ‘Nay, he would have 
me go! If Sir Daniel slew him, when the hour comes 
this hand shall slay sir Daniel: but neither him nor 
his will I desert in peril. And’ for mine oath, good 
Jack, ye shall absolve me of it here. For the ‘lives’ | 
sake of many men that hurt you not, and for mine 
honour, ye shall set me free.” 

od We Dick? Never!” returned Matcham. ‘‘An ye leave 
me, y’ are forsworn, and so I shall declare it.” 

“My blood beats,” said Dick. “Give me the windac! 
Give it me!” | 

“T’ll not,” said Matcham. “I'll save you in your | 
teeth.” 


Woe SA CGO bs EU ALES ieee Gite naeaL a ene O87 Aa Sa mat 8 
aan NS ( hy Ri Wy EY eh ctl ae, ee ie 


Sa ne Bee ARROW 


“Not?” eried Dick. “T’ll make you!” 

“Try it,’’ said the other. 

They stood, looking in each other’s eyes, each ready 
for aspring. Then Dick leaped; and though Matcham 
_ turned instantly and fled, in two bounds he was over- 

taken, the windac was twisted from his grasp, he was 
thrown roughly to the ground, and Dick stood across 
him, flushed and meracing, with doubled fist. Mat- 
cham lay where he had fallen, with his face in the 
grass, not thinking of resistance. 

Dick bent his bow. “T’ll teach you!” he cried fiercely. 
“Oath or no oath, ye may go hang for me.” 

And: he turned and began to run. Matcham was on 
his feet at once, and began running after him. | 

“What d’ye want?” cried Dick, stopping. “What 
‘make ye after me? Stand off!” Sica 

“IT will follow an I please,” said Matcham. “This 
wood is free to me.” 

“Stand back, by’r Lady!” retorted Dick, raising his - 
ow. 
) “Ah, y’are a brave boy!” retorted Matcham. 

“Shoot!” 

Dick lowered his weapon in some confusion. 

“See here,’? he said. “Y’ have done me ill enough. 
Go, then. Go your own way in fair wise; or, whether 
I will or not, I must even drive you to it.” 4 

“Well,” said Matcham, doggedly, “y’ are the — 
stronger. Do your worst. I shall not leave to fol- — 
low thee, Dick, unless thou makest me,” he added. { 
_. Dick was almost beside himself. It went against ~ 
his heart to beat a creature so defenceless; and, for ~ 

the life of him, he knew no other way to rid himself 
- of this unwelcome, and, as he began to think, perhaps — 
- untrue companion. a) 
 “Y”’ are mad, I think,” he cried. “Fool-fellow, lam — 
hastening to your foes; as fast as foot can carry me, — 
go | thither.” a 

“T care not, Dick,” replied the lad. “If y’ are bound ~ 
_ to die, Dick, Pil die too. I would liever go with you to | 
prison than to go free without you.” 4 

“Well,” returned the other, “I may stand no longer ; 


THE BLACK ARROW 59 


prating. Follow me, if ye must; but if ye play me 
false, it shall but little advance you, mark ye that. 
Shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards, boy.” 


So saying, Dick took once more to his heels, keep- 


ing in the margin of the thicket, and looking briskly 
about him as he went. At a good pace he rattled out 
of the dell, and came again into the more open quar- 
ters of the wood. To the left a little eminence ap- 


peared, spotted with golden gorse, and crowned with a 


black tuft of firs. 


“TI shall see from there,” he thought, and struck for 


it across a heathy clearing. 
He had gone but a few yards, when Matcham touched 


him on the arm and pointed. To the eastward of the ~ 


summit there was a dip, and, as it were, a valley pass- 
ing to the other side; the heath was not yet out; all the 


ground was rusty, like an unscoured buckler, and 


dotted sparingly with yews; and there, one following 
another, Dick saw half a score green jerkins mounting 
the ascent, and marching at their head, conspicuous 


by his boar-spear, Ellis Duckworth in person. One | 
after another gained the top, showed for a moment 


against the sky, and then dipped upon the further side, 
until the last was gone. 
Dick looked at Matcham with a kindlier eye. 


“So y’ are to be true to me, Jack?” he asked. “I 


thought ye were of the other party.” 
Matcham began to sob. 


“What cheer!” cried Dick. ‘“‘Now the saints behold 


us! would ye snivel for a word?” 


“Ye hurt me,” sobbed Matcham. “Ye hurt me when _ 
ye threw mé down. Y’ are a coward to abuse your — 


strength.” 
“Nay, that is fool’s talk,” said Dick, roughly. ‘Y’ 


had no title to my windac, Master John. I would ’a’ 


done right to have well basted you. If ye go with me, 
ye must obey me; and so, come.” 


Matcham had half a thought to stay behind; but, — 
seeing that Dick continued to scour full-tilt towards 


the eminence, and not so much as looked across his 


shoulder, he soon thought better of that, and began to 


t 


WEN URES CaS WABCO 
AR WON MS tf 
NMR SL ava Hy ie 


Nay shh 
ra 


60 HE BLACK ARROW 


run in turn. But the ground was very difficult and 
_ steep; Dick had already a long start, and had, at any 
rate, the lighter heels, and he had long since come to 
_ the summit, crawled forward through the firs and en- 
- gsconced himself in a thick tuft of gorse, before Match- 
am, panting like a deer, rejoined him, and lay down 
in silence by his side. 
; Below, in the bottom of a considerable valley, the 
_ short cut from Tunstall hamlet wound downwards to 
_ the ferry. It was well beaten, and the eye followed it 
_ easily from point to point. Here it was bordered by 
- open glades; there the forest closed upon it; every 
_ hundred yards it ran beside an ambush. Far down the 
path, the sun shone on seven steel salets, and from 
_ time to time, as the trees opened, Selden and his men 
- could be seen riding briskly, still bent upon Sir Daniel’s 
mission. The wind had somewhat fallen, but still 
- tussled merrily with the trees, and, perhaps, had 
_ Appleyard been there, he would have drawn a warn- 
ing from the troubled conduct of the birds. 
“Now, mark,” Dick whispered. “They be already 
- well advanced into the wood; their safety lieth rather 
- In continuing forward. But see ye where this wide 
_ glade runneth down before us, and in the midst of it, 
_ these two-score trees make like an island? There were 
their safety. An they but come sound as far as that, 
I will make shift to warn them. But my heart mis- 
_ giveth me; they are but seven against so many, and 
_ they but carry cross-bows. The long-bow, Jack, will 
- have the uppermost ever.” 7 
__ Meanwhile, Selden and his men still wound up the 
- path, ignorant of their danger, and momently drew 
nearer hand. Once, indeed, they paused, drew into a 
- group, and seemed to point and listen. But it was 
something from far away across the plain that had 
arrested their attention—a hollow growl of cannon 
_ that came, from time to time, upon the wind, and told 
of the great battle. It was worth a thought, to be 
_ sure; for if the voice of the big guns were thus become 
- audible in Tunstall Forest, the fight must have rolled 
_ ever eastward, and the day, by consequence, gone sore 


THE BLACK ARROW 61 


against Sir Daniel and the lords of the dark rose. 

But presently the little troop began again to move 
forward, and came next to a very open, heathy portion 
of the way, where but a single tongue of forest ran 
down to join the road. They were but just abreast 
of this, when an arrow shone flying. One of the men 
threw up his arms, his horse reared, and both fell and 
struggled together in a mass. Even from where the 
boys lay they could hear the rumour of the men’s 
voices crying out; they could see the startled horses 
prancing, and, presently, as the troop began to recover 
from their first surprise, one fellow beginning to dis- 
mount. A second arrow from somewhat farther off 
glanced in a wide arch; a second rider bit the dust. 
The man who was dismounting lost hold upon the rein, 
and his horse fled galloping, and dragged him by the 
foot along the road, bumping from stone to stone, and 
battered by the fleeing hoofs. The four who still kept 
the saddle instantly broke and scattered; one wheeled — 
and rode, shrieking, towards the ferry; the other three, © 
with loose rein and flying raiment, came galloping up 
the road from Tunstall. From every clump they passed 
an arrow sped. Soon a horse fell, but the rider found 
his feet and continued to pursue his comrades till a sec- 
ond shot despatched him. Another man fell; then 
another horse; out of the whole troop there was but 
one fellow left, and he on foot; only, in different direec- 
tions; the noise of the galloping of three riderless 
horses was dying fast into the distance. | 

All this time not one of the assailants had for a 
moment showed himself. Here and there along the 
path, horse or man rolled, undespatched, in his agony; 
but no merciful enemy broke cover to put them from 
their pain. | 

The solitary survivor stood bewildered in the road — 
beside his fallen charger. He had come the length of 
that broad glade, with the island of timber, pointed ~— 
out by Dick: He was not, perhaps, five hundred 
yards from where the boys lay hidden; and they could © 
see him plainly, looking to and fro in deadly expecta- 
tion. But nothing came; and the man began to pluck 


ie tate eo eC Aa eS OR Poe is) Ree RIP e ee i elm itm a OR ee ROR Am he rm 
JS TN ASE SFE SAD ROLE T ae aT ANOS ‘ ys ie [ae Te ‘a w banat aN 4 aR st Ray Wy 
BEANS Bie ag fh aj Va Whlr 7h Yee Sa A raat HG : Hh h APRA LUN NY (2h 
Hi POR oy MN AW Ngiag eeitist MPI Re rae Wy Bani rots ion 
; Pu ae! NA eR) LAN On Ss MER OAR ATOE wep We! 
y HH Shaw pabaNeT) aor Ng reiye) y Wha 
- - \ 


62 +~«+‘THE BLACK ARROW — 


up his courage, and suddenly unslung and bent his 
bow. At the same time, by something in his action, 
Dick recognized Selden. 

At this offer of resistance, from all about him in 
the covert of the woods there went up the sound of 
laughter. A score of men, at least, for this was the 


very thickest of the ambush, joined in this cruel and 


untimely mirth. Then an arrow glanced over Sel- 

den’s shoulder; and he leaped and ran a little back. 

Another dart struck quivering at his heel. He made 

_ for the cover. A third shaft leaped out right in his 

face, and fell short in front of him. And then the 

- Jaughter was repeated loudly, rising and re-echoing 
_ from different thickets. 

It was plain that his assailants were but baiting 
him, as men, in those days, baited the poor bull, or 
as the cat still trifles with the mouse. The skirmish 
‘was well over; farther down the road a fellow in 
green was already ealmly ‘gathering the arrows; and 


iG now, in the evil pleasure of their hearts, they gave 


themselves the spectacle of their poor fellow-sinner 


in his torture. 


_ Selden began to understand; he uttered a roar of 
anger, shouldered his crossbow and sent a quarrel 
at a venture into the wood. Chance favoured him, for 
a slight cry responded. Then, throwing down his 
‘weapon, Selden began to run before him up the glade, 
and almost in a straight line for Dick and Matcham. 

The companions of the Black Arrow now began to 
shoot in earnest. But they were properly served; 
their chance had passed; most of them had now to 
shoot against the sun; and Selden, as he ran, bounded 
from side to side to baffle and deceive their aim. Best 
of all, by turning up the glade he had defeated their 
preparations; there were no marksmen posted higher 
up than the one whom he had just killed or wounded; 
and the confusion of the foresters’ counsels soon be- 
came apparent. A whistle sounded thrice, and then 
again twice. It was repeated from another quarter. 
The woods on either side became full of the sound of 


4 people bursting through the underwood; and a be-— af 


THE BLACK ARROW 63 


wildered deer ran out into the open, stood for a second 
on three feet, with nose in air, and then plunged 
again into the thicket. 

Selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow 
followed him, but still would miss. It began to appear 
as if he might escape. Dick had his bow armed, ready 
to support him; even Matcham, forgetful of his 
interest, took sides at heart for the poor fugitive, and 
both lads glowed and trembled in the ardour of their 
hearts. 

He was within fifty yards of them, when an arrow 
struck him, and he fell. He was up again, indeed, 
upon the instant; but now he ran staggering, and, 
like a blind man, turned aside from his direction. 

Dick leaped to his feet and waved to him. 

“Here!” he cried. “This way! here is help! Nay, 
run, fellow—run!” 

But just then a second arrow struck Selden in the 
shoulder, between the plates of his brigandine, and, — 
piercing through his jack, brought him, like a stone, 
to earth. 
; Bee the poor heart!”’ cried Matcham, with clasped 

ands. | 

And Dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for 
archery. Ten to one he had speedily been shot—for the 
foresters were furious with themselves, and taken un- 
awares by Dick’s appearance in the rear of their 
position—but instantly out of a quarter of the wood 
surprisingly near to the two lads, a stentorian voice 
arose, the voice of Ellis Duckworth. 

“Hold!” it roared. “Shoot not! Take him alive! 
It is young Shelton—Harry’s son.” 

And immediately after, a shrill whistle sounded 
several times, and was again taken up and repeated 


farther off. The whistle, it appeared, was John 


Amend-All’s battle trumpet, by which he published | 
his directions. 
“Ah, foul fortune!” cried Dick. ‘‘We are andes | 
Swiftly, Jack, come swiftly!” 
And the pair turned and ran back through the open 
pine clump that covered the summit of the hill. 


CHAPTER VI 
TO THE DAY’S END. 
T was, indeed, high time for them to run. On 


every side the company of the Black Arrow was 
making for the hill. Some, being better runners, 


or having open ground to run upon, had far out- 


o There followed next a piece of open, which Dick 


ng i Matcham limping with his injured foot, they pulled ~ 
_ themselves together, and once more pelted down the © 


a low thicket of evergreen. High overhead, the tall 4 
_. trees made a continuous roof of foliage. It was a. 
_pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and, except for — 


stripped the others, and were already close upon the 
goal; some, following valleys, had spread out to right 
and left, and outflanked the lads on either side. 
Dick plunged into the nearest cover. It was a tall 
grove of oaks, firm under foot and clear of under- 
brush, and as it lay down hill, they made good speed. 


-avoided, holding to his left. Two minutes after, and 
the same obstacle arising, the lads followed the same 
course. Thus it followed that, while the lads, bend- 
ing continually to the left, drew nearer and nearer to 
_ the high road and the river which they had crossed 

an hour or two before, the great bulk of their pur- — 
suers were leaning to the other hand and running to- 
wards Tunstall. : 

The lads paused to breathe. There was no sound 
of pursuit. Dick put his ear to the ground, and still ~ 
there was nothing; but the wind, to be sure, still made ~ 
a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard to make certain. — 

“On again!” said Dick; and, tired as they were, 


hill. My 
Three minutes later, they were breasting through © 


the hollies among which the lads were struggling, a 
, ai t ¥; 


aa Tie pas A) or 


THE BLACK ARROW —~Ssé«SSS 


open and smoothly swarded. 


On the other side, pushing through the last fringe 
of evergreen, they blundered forth again into the open 
twilight of the grove. 

“Stand!” cried a voice. , 
And there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet 
before them, they beheld a stout fellow in green, sore 
blown with running, who instantly drew an arrow to 
the head and covered them. Matcham stopped with > 
a cry; but Dick, without a pause, ran straight upon 
the forester, drawing his dagger as he went on. The 
other, whether he was startled by the daring of the 
onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, 
did not shoot: he stood wavering; and before he had 
time to come to himself, Dick bounded at his throat, 
and sent him’sprawling backward on the turf. The 
arrow went one way and the bow another with a 
sounding twang. The disarmed forester grappled his 
assailant; but the dagger shone and descended twice. 


Then came a couple of groans, and then Dick rose to 


his feet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed 
to the heart. 

“On!” said Dick; and he once more pelted forward, 
Matcham trailing in the rear. To say truth, they 
made but poor speed of it by now, labouring dismally 
as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish. 
Matcham had a cruel stitch, and his head swam; and 
as for Dick, his knees were like lead. But they kept 
up the form of running with undiminished courage. 

Presently they came to the end of the grove. It 


stopped abruptly; and there, a few yards before them, 
was the high-road from Risingham to Shoreby, lying ~ 
at this point between two even walls of forest. TG 


At the sight Dick paused; and as soon as he stopped 
running, he became aware of a confused noise, which 


rapidly grew louder. It was at first like the rush of a | 


very high gust of wind, but it soon became more 


definite, and resolved itself into the galloping of ‘ 


horses; and then, in a flash, a whole company of 


men-at-arms came driving round the corner, swept 


before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant. — 


_ the colours of Earl Risingham, and he knew that the 4 


& 
pie 
Xs 


66 ‘THE BLACK ARROW 


They rode as for their lives, in complete disorder; — 
some of them were wounded: riderless horses galloped 
_at their side with bloody saddles. They were plainly — 
fugitives from the great battle. ) 
The noise of their passage had scarce begun to die ~ 
away towards Shoreby, before fresh hoofs came echo- — 
ing in their wake, and another deserter clattered — 
down the road; this time, a single rider, and, by his — 
splendid armour, a man of high degree. Close after 
him there followed several baggage-waggons, fleeing 
at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at the horses 
as if for life. These must have run early in the day; 
but their cowardice was not to save them. For just 
before they came abreast of where the lads stood won- 
dering, 2 man in hacked armour, and seemingly beside 
himself with fury, overtook the waggons, and with 
the truncheon of a sword began to cut the drivers 
down. Some leaped from their places and plunged 
into the woods; the others he sabred as they sat, 
eursing them the while for cowards in a voice that 
was scarce human. 

All this time the noise in the distance had continued — 
to increase; the rumble of carts, the clatter of horses, _ 
and cries of men, a great, confused rumour, came ~ 
swelling on the wind; and it was plain that the rout © 
of a whole army was pouring, like an inundation, down ~ 
the road. 4 

‘Dick stood sombre. He had meant to follow the — 
‘highway till the turn for Holywood, and now he had © 
to change his plan. But above all, he had recognized ~ 


battle had gone finally against the rose of Lancaster. — 
Had Sir Daniel joined, and was he now a fugitive © 
and ruined? or had he deserted to the side of York, — 
and was he forfeit to honour? It was an ugly choice. ~ 

“Come,” he said, sternly; and, turning on his heel, © 
he began to walk forward through the grove, with hi 
Matcham limping in his rear. | ‘- 

For some time they continued to thread the forest / 
in silence. It was now growing late; the sun was © 
setting in the plain beyond Kettley; the ‘tree-tops over- 


THE BLACK ARROW | 67 


head glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to 
grow darker ajid the chill of the night to fall. 

If there was anything to eat!” cried Dick, sud- 
‘denly, pausing as he spoke. 

Matcham sat down and began to weep. 

Ye Cah weep for your own supper, but when it 
was to Save men’s lives, your heart was hard enough,” 
said Dick, contemptuously. “Y’ ’ave seven deaths 
upon ‘your conscience, Master John; I’ll ne’er forgive 

_ : you that.” | 7 

Conscience!” cried Matcham, looking fiercely up. 

“Mine! And ye have the man’s red blood upon your 
‘dagger! And wherefore did ye slay him, the poor 
soul? He drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held 
you in his hand, and spared you! ’Tis as brave to 
kill a kitten as a man that not defends himself.” 

Dick was struck dumb. 

Of slew him fair. I ran me in upon his bow,” he 
tried. He 

“It was a coward blow,” returned Matcham. “Y’ 

are but a lout and bully, Master Dick; ye but abuse 
advantages; let there come a stronger, we will see 
you truckle at his boot! Ye care not for vengeance, 
neither—for your father’s death that goes unpaid, | 
and his poor ghost that clamoureth for justice. But — 
if there come but a poor creature in your hands that 
lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, 
down she shall go!” 

Dick was too furious to observe that “she.” 

“Marry!” he cried, ‘‘fand here is news! Of any 
two the one will still be stronger. The better man 
throweth the worse, and the worse is well served. 
Ye deserve a belting, Master Matcham, for your ill- } 
guidance and unthankfulness to me-ward; and what © 
ye deserve ye shall have.” Pais ve 

And Dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still . 
preserved the appearance of composure, began to un- \, 

- buckle his belt. Qaeae ¢ 

“Here shall be your supper,” he said, grimly. A A 

Matcham had stopped his tears; he was as white ~— 
as a sheet, but he looked Dick steadily in the face, 


Ba Oe UE eA eee Peas te ee Wea! Be ROM WAT Stee toa Eb SON ate RTE OD AUN Feed adie YoY i” 
Wagers Ake aa hind Leakey Tut OME FUL Ni uN ie NIA oR ot i 4 
MTT aR A TAL CORR cart ARC NN ood PS aa 4 bicot A 

TRUE Se , ; ; 


68 ne 


a Matcham winced, and drew himself together 
so cruel an apprehension, that his heart failed hi 


a irresolute, feeling like a fool. 


ie be so feeble of hand, ye should keep the closer guard 
upon your tongue. But I’ll be hanged before I beat 


Peed never moved, Dick took a step 
belt. Then he paused, embarrassed by a 
and the thin, weary face of his companio 


: cruel! I be lame; I be weary; I resist not; 


~ not,” he continued; “but forgive you?—never. I know 
ye not; ye were my master’s enemy; I ‘lent you my 


wey 


age began to subside. 
“Say ye were in the wrong, then,” he sai 
“Nay,’ said Matcham, “I was in the righ 

did thee hurt; come, beat me—coward!” 
Dick raised the belt at this last provocation, 

yet again. The strap fell by his side, and he stoo 


“A plague upon thee, shrew!” he said. ’ “An ye 


you!” and he put on his belt again. “Beat you I will 


horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y’ ’ave called me 


aman o’ wood, a coward, and a bully. Nay, by the 


mass! the measure is filled, and runneth over. Tis 


a great thing to be weak, I trow; ye can do your 


worst, yet. shall none punish you; ye may steal a man’s 
weapons in the hour of need, yet may the man not 
take his own again;—y’ are weak, forsooth! Nay, 
then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance, and 


- erieth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body 
through! Tut! fool words?” 


“And yet ye beat me not,” returned Matcham. 
“Let be,” said Dick—‘“let be. I will instruct you. 
Y’ ’ave been ill-nurtured, methinks, and yet ye have 


the makings of some good, and, beyond all question, 
- gaved me from the river. Nay, I had forgotten it; I 


: am as thankless as thyself. But, come, let us on. An 


we be for Holywood this night, ay, or to-morrow 
, early, we had best set forward speedily.” 


But though Dick had talked himself back into his 


) usual good-humour, Matcham had forgiven him 
| nothing. His violence, the recollection of the forester 
h whom he had slain—above all, the vision of the up- 


THE BLACK ARROW es 


raised belt, were things not easily to be forgotten. 

“JT will thank you, for the form’s sake,” said 
Matcham. “But, in sooth, good Master Shelton, I 
had liever find my way alone. Here is a wide wood; 
prithee, let each choose his path; I owe you a dinner 
and a lesson. Fare ye well!” 

“Nay,” cried Dick, “if that be your tune, so be it, 
and a plague be with you!” 

Each turned aside, and they began walking off sev- 
erally, with no thought of the direction, intent solely 
on their quarrel. But Dick had not gone ten paces 
er his name was called, and Matcham came running 
after. 

“Dick,” he said, “it were unmannerly to part so 
coldly. Here is my hand, and my heart with it. For 
all that wherein you have so excellently served and 
helped me—not for the form, but from the heart, I 
thank you. Fare ye right well.” | 

“Well, lad,” returned Dick, taking the hand which 
was offered him, “good speed to you, if speed you 
may. But I misdoubt it shrewdly. Y’ are too dis- 
putatious.” 

So then they separated for the second time; and 
presently it was Dick who was running after 
Matcham. 

“Here,” he said, “take my crossbow; shalt not go | 

unarmed.” 
_ “A crossbow!” said Matcham. “Nay, boy, I have 
neither the strength to bend nor yet the skill to aim 
with it. It were no help to me, good boy. But yet 
I thank you.” 

The night had now fallen, and under the trees they 
could no longer read each other’s face. 

“T will go some little way with you,” said Dick. 
“The night is dark. I would fain leave you on a 
path, at least. My mind misgiveth me, y’ are likely 
to be lost.” | 

Without any more words, he began to walk for- 
ward, and the other once more followed him. The 
blackness grew thicker; only here and there, in the 
open places, they saw the sky, dotted with small stars. 


mike Sahay eaten We A ae in Rd Oy a ir, it a Aa nie BT er) Ks PAP 
} : WRAL St 


> 
aie 


70 ‘THE BLACK ARROW 


In the distance, the noise of the rout of the Lancas- — 
trian army still continued to be faintly audible; but — 
with every step they left it farther in the rear. 

At the end of half an hour of silent progress they — 
came forth upon a broad patch of heathy open. It 

-glimmered in the light of the stars, shaggy with fern — 

and islanded with clumps of yew. And here they 
_ paused and looked upon each other. 

i “*Y? are weary?’ Dick’ said. 

“Nay, I am so weary,” answered Matcham, “that 
methinks I could lie down and die.” 

“T hear the chiding of a river,” returned Dick. 
“Let us go so far forth, for I am sore athirst.” 

The ground sloped down gently, and, sure enough, — 
in the bottom, they found a little murmuring river, © 
running among willows. Here they threw themselves | 
down together by the brink; and putting their mouths — 
to the level of a starry pool, they drank their fill. : 

“Dick,” said Matcham, “it may not be. I can no © 
more.” — 

“IT saw a pit as we came down,” said Dick. “Let 
us lie down therein and sleep.” 

“Nay, but with all my heart!’ cried Matcham. 

The pit was sandy and dry; a shock of brambles — 
hung upon one edge, and made a partial shelter; and © 
there the two lads lay down, keeping close together — 
for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all forgotten. — 
And soon sleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under — 
the dew and stars they rested peacefully. if 


CHAPTER VII 
THE HOODED FACE 


HEY awoke in the grey of the morning; the 
birds were not yet in full song, but twittered 
here and there among the woods; the sun was 

not yet up, but the eastern sky was barred with 
solemn colours. Half-starved and over-weary as they 
were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful 
lassitude. And as they thus lay, the clang of a bell < 
fell suddenly upon their ears. 
“A bell!” said Dick, sitting up. “Can we be, then, — 


so near to Holywood 2 


A little after, the bell clanged again, but this time 
somewhat nearer hand; and from that time forth, 
and still drawing nearer and nearer, it continued to 
sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning. 

‘Nay, what should this betoken?” said Dick, who 
was now broad awake. 

“It is someone walking,” returned Matcham, “and 
the bell tolleth ever as he moves.” 

“IT see that well,’ said Dick. “But wherefore? 
What maketh he in Tunstall Woods? Jack,” he added, 
“laugh at me an ye will, but I like not the hollow 
sound of it.” 

“Nay,” said Matcham, with a shiver, “it, hath a 
doleful note. An the day were not come——” 

But just then the bell, quickening its pace, began 
to ring thick and hurried, and then it gave a single 
hammering jangle, and was silent for a space. 

“Tt is as though the bearer had run for a pater-. 
noster-while, and then leaped the river,” Dick ob- 
served. | 

“And now beginneth he again to pace soberly for- 
ward,’ added Matcham. 


71 


72 HE BLACK ARROW 


“Nay,” returned Dick—‘nay, not so soberly, Jack. 
’"Tis a man that walketh yon right speedily. ’Tis a — 
- man in some fear of his life, or about some hurried ~ 
business. See ye not how swift the beating draweth 
near?” | 

“It is now close by,” said Matcham. 

They were now on the edge of the pit; and as the ~ 
pit itself was on a certain eminence, they commanded ~ 
a view over the greater proportion of the clearing, — 


Vay up to the thick woods that closed it in. 


The daylight, which was very clear and grey, 
showed them a riband of white footpath wandering ~ 
among the gorse. It passed some hundred yards from 
the pit, and ran by the whole length of the clearing, 
east and west. By the line of its course, Dick judged 
it should lead more or less directly to the Moat House. 

Upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of 
the wood, a white figure now appeared. It paused a 
little, and seemed to look about; and then, at a slow 
pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near 
across the heath. At every step the bell clanged. 
Face it had none; a white hood, not even pierced with 
eyeholes, veiled the head; and as the creature moved, 
it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick. 
Fear fell upon the lads, as cold as death. 

“A leper!” said Dick, hoarsely. 

“His touch is death,” said Matcham. “Let us run.” — 

“Not so,” returned Dick. “See ye not?—he is ane a 
blind. He guideth him with a staff. Let us lie stills — 
the wind bloweth towards the path, and he will go by. Hl 
and hurt us not. Alas, poor soul, and we should 
rather pity him!’’ 


“I will pity him when he is by,” replied Matcham. — 
The blind leper was now about half-way towards 


é them, and just then the sun rose and shone full on his — 


veiled face. He had been a tall man before he was 2, 
- bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he ~ 


walked with a vigorous step. The dismal beating of 


his bell, the pattering of the stick, the eyeless screen a 
before his countenance, and the knowledge that he — 
was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut a 


‘bw uf Wi wer 7 - PPO 37 ance Gael ey eC ere es OL ae ae Pes er aa TEN sate Va pee BS A 

) PAR Ys oa thar 4 q7%h ee} kof Vt year it ; i y ei i \ Pee he ‘ + ny ean ie ay? 

eer fe *, ih d v ea) yea A a ot vf fp : ‘ a1 Fee DY : ; 
: _¥ Y > , vai , eds, , fi V thas 


al YI 
v 


n, 
iy 


THE BLACK ARROW 73 
out for ever from the touch of his fellowmen, filled 
the lads’ bosoms with dismay; and at every step that 
brought him nearer, their courage and strength 
seemed to desert them. 

As he came about level with the pit, he paused, 
and turned his face full upon the lads. 

“Mary be my shield! He sees us!” said Matcham, 
faintly. 

“Hush!” whispered Dick. “He doth but hearken. 


He is blind, fool!” 
The leper looked or listened, whichever he was really 


Y oF 


nee 
4, y y pos 
a4 Gs aaa“ 


ify 
Migs? 
: 7 

¢ 


if 
; 
iJ 
om 


' A 
tz 


“A leper!” said Dick, hoarsely. 


- doing, for some seconds. Then he began to move on 


‘at be not stopped! 


Oh Aaa Be Ait eat AS CA ie OMI OE ES oS ie gaat Od oc LTA) Wl foe y Sa eal TT ehia ee ee a ', 

she (4 air me i Ay ge hie ri Wee Rae abet tae 0h a i et Dai Ms Ne) iE a bene N m 
ci A Sy aN WR Vg he . Pat SA Nee RSE aK Ay RCI sate ay . 
Naas ane ay Nc (hae SCAN oO Sad RRA 2M UR Woe fe ue : 
P| Si : hve uN Woy ‘ Re Sa tat) 5 

Favs , y Wag ae ' . ¥ ‘ 
x r \ v7 
é 


G74) | SHE BLACK hoe 


again, but presently paused once more, and again 
turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads. Even Dick 
became dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the 
mere sight he might become infected. But soon the 


bell sounded, and this time, without any further hesi- 


tation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little 
heath and disappeared into the covert of the woods. 
“He saw us,” said Matcham. ‘I could swear it!” 
“Tut!” returned Dick, recovering some sparks of 


courage. “He but heard us. He was in fear, poor 


soul! An ye were blind, and walked in a perpetual 
or a bird cried ‘Peep.’ ”’ 

“Dick, good Dick, he saw us,” repeated Matcham. 
“When a man hearkeneth, he doth not as this man; 
he doth otherwise, Dick. This was seeing; it was 
not hearing. He means foully. Hark, else, if his bell 


$7? 


~ Such was the case. The bell rang no longer. 


} night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled © 


“Nay, said Dick, “I like not that. Nay,’ he cried > 


again, “I like that little. What may this betoken? 
Let us go, by the mass!” 

“He hath gone east,” added Matcham. ‘Good Dick, 
let us go westward straight. I shall not breathe till 
I have my back turned upon that leper.” 

“Jack, y’ are too cowardly,” replied Dick. “We shall 
go fair for Holywood, or as fair, at least, as I can 


: hi guide you, and that will be due north.” 
. They were afoot at once, passed the stream upon. 


some stepping stones, and began to mount on the 
- other side, which was steeper, towards the margin of 
the wood. The ground became very uneven, full of 
knolls and hollows; trees grew scattered or in clumps; 
it became difficult to choose a path, and the lads some- 


i what wandered. They were weary, besides, with yes- 


terday’s exertions and the lack of food, and they 


nk pees but heavily and dragged their feet among the 
* gan 


‘Presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were 


a _ aware of the leper, some hundred feet in front of 


THE BLACK ARROW 75 


them, crossing the line of their march by a hollow. 
His bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the 
ground, and he went before him with the swift and 
assured footsteps of @ man who sees. Next moment 
he had disappeared into a little thicket. 

The lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a 
tuft of gorse; there they lay, horror-struck. 

“Certain, he pursueth us,” said Dick—‘‘certain. He 
held the clapper of his bell in one hand, saw ye? that it 
should not sound. Now may the saints aid and guide 
us, for I have no strength to combat pestilence!’’ 

“What maketh he?’ cried Matcham. “What doth 
he want? Who ever heard the like, that a leper, out 
of mere malice, should pursue unfortunates? Hath 
he not his bell to that very end, that people may avoid 
him? Dick, there is below this something deeper.” 

“Nay, I care not,” moaned Dick; “the strength is 


gone out of me; my legs are like water. The saints = 


be mine assistance!” 

“Would ye lie there idle?” cried Matcham. ‘Let us 
back into the open. We have the better chance; he 
cannot steal upon us unawares.” 

“Not I,” said Dick. “My time is come; and per- 
adventure he may pass us by.” 

“Bend me, then, your bow!” cried the other. 
“What! will ye be a man?” 

Dick crossed himself. “Would ye have me shoot 
upon a leper?” he cried. “The hand would fail me. 
Nay, now,” he added—‘“nay, now, let be! With sound 
men I will fight, but not with ghosts and lepers. Which 
this is, I wot not. One or other, Heaven be our 
protection!’ 

“Now,” said Matcham, “if this be man’s courage, 
what a poor thingis man! But sith ye will do naught, 
let us lie close.” 

Then came a single, broken jangle on the bell. = 

“He hath missed his hold upon the clapper,” whis- 
pered Matcham. ‘Saints! how near he is!’ 

But Dick answered never a word; his teeth were 
near chattering. | 

Soon they saw a piece of the white robe between — 


\ 


Vi eh ; 
PACLPONUELY a Fei ag 
wie 

ve 


are 


EL Ae bin © TAMA Ud OL) a eee UA AL PRY RS kl AWA SS RE aD La UR a hae al Tae ke AS Ny yore a 
BER M NTUSVUA ORAM SW SOL an PAUL ans PIA ANSE NS MCR OE OC 
SMR EOL ITU NCLIAA YG CME HO CRUT ECE PAILS omy } a ee UR NARS UNCON LETRA 
q : WRAY SRN gy {eas Vepiate rit “y APN Waa ath tie AN 
{pay a WN? OS) ; MK irks Sed ; 
; fi 


76 'THE BLACK ARROW _ 


-some bushes; then the leper’s head was thrust forth — 
_ from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly to scan ~ 
_. the neighbourhood before he once again withdrew. — 
_ To their stretched senses the whole bush appeared ~ 


alive with rustlings and the creak of twigs; and they 
heard the beating of each other’s heart. 


Suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open fi; 


close by, and ran straight upon the lads. They, 


shrieking aloud, separated and began to run different 
ways. But their horrible enemy fastened upon 
Matcham, ran him swiftly down, and had him almost 


instantly a prisoner. The lad gave one scream that — 


echoed high and far over the forest, he had one spasm 
of struggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he 
fell limp into his captor’s arms. 

Dick heard the cry and turned. He saw Matcham 


( fall; and on the instant his spirit and his strength 


revived. Withacry of pity and anger, he unslung and 
bent his arblast. But ere he had time to shoot, the 


Ly leper held up his hand. 


“Hold your shot, Dickon!” cried a familiar voice. 


“Hold your shot, mad wag! Know ye not a friend?’ 


And then laying down Matcham on the turf, he 
undid the hood from off his face, and disclosed the 


features of Sir Daniel Brackley. 


“Sir Daniel!” cried Dick. 
“Ay, by the mass, Sir Daniel!” returned the knight. 


“Would ye shoot your guardian, rogue? But here is 
yh ARIS ”” And here he broke off, and pointing to 
 Matcham, asked—‘How call ye him, Dick?” 


“Nay, said Dick. “I call him Master Matcham. 


Know ye him not? He said ye knew him!” 


“Ay,” replied Sir Daniel, ‘I know the lad;” and he 


- ehuckled. “But he has fainted; and, by my sooth, he 


might have had less to faint for. Hey, Dick? Did I 


- put the fear of death upon you?” 


“Indeed, Sir Daniel, ye did. that,” said Dick, and 


sighed again at the mere recollection. “Nay, sir, sav- 
ing your respect, I had as lief ’a’ met the devil in 


person; and to speak the truth, I am yet all a-quake. 
But what made ye, sir, in such a guise?” _ 


Ve Uma LAMA Mer eT Tah Wade OMe TD OEY GS ORR! atl, NORURE Tye Altes ptt, STR 
‘ ifion o- = het & 24 a aie by’ ¥ i} a tN ¥, AY ty Wy gy Ae PUAaY fy ay 7} a9 bs bf tp 
? ULEAre v hl, Ase E bly ‘ 9 ' ‘ ¢ 7 


THE BLACK ARROW 17 


Sir Daniel’s brow grew suddenly black with anger. 

“What made I?” he said. ‘Ye do well to mind me 
of it! What? I skulked for my poor life in my own 
wood of Tunstall, Dick. We were ill sped at the 
battle; we but got there to be swept among the rout. | 
Where be all my good men-at-arms? Dick, by the 
mass, I know not! We were swept down; the shot 
fell thick among us; I have not seen one man in my 
own colours since I saw three fall. For myself, I 
came sound to Shoreby, and being mindful of the 
Black Arrow, got me this gown and bell, and came 
' softly by the path for the Moat House. There is no 
disguise to be compared with it, the jingle of this 
bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the forest; 
they would all turn pale to hear it. At length I 
came by you and Matcham. I could see but evilly 
through this same hood, and was not sure of you, 


being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished — ui 


at the finding you together. Moreover, in the open, 
where I had to go slowly and tap with my staff, I 
feared to disclose myself. But see,” he added, “this 
poor shrew begins a little to revive. A little good 
canary will comfort the heart of it.” 

The knight, from under his long dress, produced a 
stout bottle, and began to rub the temples and wet the 
lips of the patient, who returned gradually to con- 
sciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to 
another. 

“What cheer, Jack!” said Dick. “It was no leper, 
after all; it was Sir Daniel! See!’ 

“Swallow me a good draught of this,” said the 
knight. “This will give you manhood. Thereafter, I 
will give you both a meal, and we shall all three on to 


Tunstall. For, Dick,” he continued, laying forth bread 


and meat upon the grass, “I will avow to you, in all 


good conscience, it irks me sorely to be safe between __ 


four walls. Not since I backed a horse have I been 


pressed so hard; peril of life, jeopardy of land and rie 


livelihood, and to sum up, all these losels in the wood 
to hunt me down. But I be not yet shent. Some of 
my lads will pick me their way home. Hatch hath ten 


43. «~=*=é<‘<‘«‘«S EE BLACK ARROW 


| fellows; Selden, he had six. Nay, we shall soon be — 
strong again; and if I can but buy my peace with my — 


_ right fortunate and undeserving Lord of York, why, 
: Dick, we'll be a man again and go a-horseback! pr 

And so saying, the knight filled himself a horn of 
canary, and pledged his ward in dumb show. 
“Selden,” Dick faltered—‘“Selden ” And he 
--paused again. 

Sir Daniel put down the wine untasted. | 
. “How!” he cried, in a changed voice. “Selden? 
— $peak! What of Selden?” 
- Dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and 
the massacre. 
The knight heard in silence; but as he listened his 
countenance became convulsed with rage and grief. 
ai *““Now here,” he cried, ‘fon my right hand, I swear to 
avenge it! If that I fail, if that I spill not ten men’s 
souls for each, may this hand wither from my body! 
I broke this Duckworth like a rush; I beggared him 
to his door; I burned that thatch above his head; I 
drove him from this country; and now, cometh he 
back to beard me? Nay, but, Duckworth, this time 
it shall go bitter hard!’ He was silent for some time, 
- his face working. “Eat!” he cried, suddenly. “And 
you here,” he added to Matcham, “swear me an oath to 
follow straight to the Moat House.” 
: “I will pledge mine honour,” replied Matcham. 
“What make I with your honour,” replied the knight. 
“Swear me upon your mother’s welfare!” 

Matcham gave the required oath; and Sir Daniel re- 
adjusted the hood over his face, and prepared his bell 
and staff. To see him once more in that appalling 
travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two com- 
- panions. But the knight was soon upon his feet. 

Ke “Hat with despatch,” he said, “‘and follow me yarely 
to mine house.” 

_ And with that he set forth again into the woods; 
' and presently after the bell began to sound, number- 
_ ing his steps, and the two lads sat by their untasted 


meal, and heard it die slowly away up-hill into the’ 


distance. 


THE BLACK ARROW 79 


“And so ye go to Tunstall?” Dick inquired. OO 
“Yea, verily,” said Matcham, ‘when needs must! 
I am braver behind Sir Daniel’s back than to his face.” 
They ate hastily, and set forth along the path 
through the airy upper levels of the forest, where great 
beeches stood apart among green lawns, and the birds 
and squirrels made merry on the boughs: Two hours 
later, they began to descend upon the other side, and 
already, among the tree-tops, saw before them the red 
walls and roofs of Tunstall House. | | 
“Here,” said Matcham, pausing, “ye shall take your 
leave of your friend Jack, whom y’ are to see no more. 
Come, Dick, forgive him what he did amiss, as he, for 
his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgiveth you.” 
“And wherefore so?” asked Dick. “An we both go 
to Tunstall, I shall see you yet again, I trow, and that 
right often.” : 
“Ye’ll never again see poor Jack Matcham,” replied 
the other, “that was so fearful and burthensome, and 
yet plucked you from the river; ye’ll not see him more, 
Dick, by mine honour!’ He held his arms open, and 


the lads embraced and kissed. “And, Dick,” continued 


Matcham, “‘my spirit bodeth ill. Y’ are now to see a new 
Sir Daniel; for heretofore hath all prospered in his 
hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him; but now, 
methinks, when his fate has come upon him, and he 
runs the adventure of his life, he will prove but a foul 
lord to both of us. He may be brave in battle, but he ~ 
hath the liar’s eye; there is fear in his eye, Dick, and 
fear is as cruel as the wolf! We go down into that — 
house, Saint Mary guide us forth again!’ | 


And so they continued their descent in silence, and — 


came out at last before Sir Daniel’s forest stronghold, 
where it stood, low and shady, flanked with round — 
towers and stained with moss and lichen, in the lilied — 


waters of the moat. Even as they appeared, the doors — ft 


were opened, the bridge lowered, and Sir Daniel him- __ 
self, with Hatch and the parson at his side, stood 
ready to receive them. san 


PL ONO Ty | ¥; 1 a) \ 
ye! i Bay Ack Wik ek a ett ID) NN aan Wey Lats Bi Wy A Uy Ee a 


i WS es TC I ee pet ee eats Oe Ni Ae ES to a? Be Vey ae Ware wt a ees ae 
POSER SUS SUNT DUT AT Atha” (ORL Re tS Moke EUS a a Anta Cf, SARRUERLR SANA 
Wid Bi See SAMY Be fi hres UD Mae eat & 
: Ao! BEB ‘ if ‘ 


shee 


( “ easy 
rye ‘* 


BOOK II 


THE MOAT HOUSE 
CHAPTER I 
DICK ASKS QUESTIONS 


iy HE Moat House stood not far from the rough 
aha forest road. Externally it was a compact rect- 
is angle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a 
round tower, pierced for archery and battlemented at 
 thetop. Within, it inclosed a narrow court. The moat 
' was perhaps twelve feet wide, crossed by a single 
- drawbridge. It was supplied with water by a trench, 
_ leading to a forest pool, and commanded, through its 
whole length, from the battlements of the two south- 
- ern towers. Except that one or two tall and thick trees 
had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot of 
_ the walls, the house was in a good posture for defence. 
_ In the court, Dick found a part. of the garrison, 
_ busy with preparations for defence, and gloomily dis- 
- eussing the chances of a siege. Some were making 
arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been 
pesed but even as they worked, they shook their 
heads 
" Twelve of Sir Daniel’s party had escaped the battle, 
run the gauntlet through the wood, and come alive to 
the Moat House. But out of this dozen, three had 
been gravely wounded: two at Risingham in the dis- 
order of the rout, one by John Amend-All’s marksmen 
as he crossed the forest. This raised the force of the 
garrison, counting Hatch, Sir Daniel, and young Shel- 
ton, to twenty-two effective men. And more might be 
- eontinually expected to arrive. The danger lay not, 
_ therefore, in the lack of men. 


‘the spirits of the garrison. For their open foes of the 
party of York, in these most changing times, they felt 
but a far-away concern. “The world,” as people said 


80 


ras OY, WSR A 
My ee eat 


It was the terror of the black arrow that oppressed . 


; a? é 
i Ae eo 


- Tk an he A hh BS OSUE 8 oe FAC LG Rew, cee lr dad TER PY Pree 
1 SiSSL MAS ae RC al Md A Lia a i at a 
“ils ‘a4 tie / ‘ é : " 


un oF 


RO THE BLACK ARROW 81a 


in those days, “might change again” before harm 
came. But for their neighbours in the wood they . 
trembled. It was not Sir Daniel alone who was a 
mark for hatred. His men, conscious of impunity, had 
carried themselves cruelly through all the country. 
Harsh commands had been harshly executed; and of 
the little band that now sat talking in the court, there 
was not one but had been guilty of some act of op- 
pression or barbarity. And now, by the fortune of 
war, Sir Daniel had become powerless to protect his — 
instruments ; now, by the issue of some hours of battle, 
- at which many of them had not been present, they ~ 
had all become punishable traitors to the State, out- 
side the buckler of the law, a shrunken company in a Hf 
poor fortress that was hardly tenable, and exposed 
upon all sides to the just resentment of their victims. 
Nor had there been lacking grisly advertisements of Bal 
what they might expect. Ke 
At different periods of the evening and the night, 
no fewer than seven riderless horses had come neigh- ue 
ing in terror to the gate. Two were from Selden’s ~ 
troop; five belonged to men who had ridden with Sir 
Daniel to the field. Lastly, a little before dawn, a 
Spearman had come staggering to the moat-side, 
pierced by three arrows; even as they carried him in, 
his spirit had departed; but by the words that he 
uttered in his agony, he must have been the last sur- 
vivor of a considerable company of men. A the 
Hatch himself showed under his sun-brown, the 
pallor of anxiety; and when he had taken Dick aside 
and learned the fate of Selden, he fell on a stone bench 
and fairly wept. The others, from where they sat on 8 
stools or doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, 
looked at him with wonder and alarm, but none ven- 
tured to inquire the cause of his emotion. ie 
“Nay, Master Shelton,” said Hatch at last—“nay, 
but what said 1? We shall all go. Selden wasa man  ~ 
of his hands; he was like a brother to me. Well, he | 
has gone second; well, we shall all follow! For what 
said their knave rhnyme?—‘A black arrow in each black | 
heart.’ Was it not so it went? Appleyard, Selden, — 


92 THE BLACK ARROW 


™ 


Smith, old Humphrey gone; and there lieth poor Joti 
Carter, crying, poor sinner, for the priest.” 

Dick gave ear. Out of a low window, hard by where 
they were talking, groans and murmurs came to his 


ear. 
“Lieth he there?” he asked. 
“Ay, in the second porter’s chamber,” answered 


Hatch. “We could not bear him farther, soul and 
_ body were so bitterly at odds. At every step we lifted 
him, he thought to wend. But now, methinks, it is the 


soul that suffereth. Ever for the priest he crieth, and 


- Sir Oliver, I wot not why, still cometh not. ’Twill be 


a long shrift; but poor Appleyard and poor Selden, 


they had none.” 


Dick stooped to the window and looked in. The little 
cell was low and dark, but he could make out the 


_ wounded soldier lying moaning on his pallet. 


“Carter, poor friend, how goeth it?” he asked. 
“Master Shelton,” returned the man, in an excited 


| whisper, “for the dear light of heaven, bring the priest. 
 Alack, I am sped: I am brought very low down; my 


hurt is to the death. Ye may do me no more Service; 


_ this shall be the last. Now, for my poor soul’s interest, 
and as a loyal gentleman, bestir you; for I have that 
matter on my conscience that shall drag me deep.” 


He groaned, and Dick heard the grating of his 


teeth, whether in pain or terror. 
Just then Sir Daniel appeared upon the threshold 
_ of the hall. He had a letter in one hand. 


“Lads,” he said, “we have had a shog, we have had 


a tumble; wherefore, then, deny it? Rather it im- 
- puteth to ‘get speedily again to saddle. This old Harry 
_ the Sixt has had the undermost. Wash we, then, our 
hands of him. I have a good friend that rideth next 
_ >the duke, the Lord of Wensleydale. Well, I have writ 
- a letter to my friend, praying his good lordship, and 
offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable 
surety for the future. Doubt not but he will lend a 
a tone i ear. A prayer beens gifts oe like a song 


Co at Se ees 
“= k,n ae eae 
i > — er s- Se 
z = < eS ye ES SS a tind 
Se et Pe ee ee ee . 


=e 
=e 


ae 


Pe ST ee Me DO iy Si ya ae ee ee ee Ale a ty 
Hie tele Oe pa 2 Mae ay 
: : a <)! eye it nyt 


THE BLACK ARROW 83 


a great thing—wherefore should I deceive you?—a 
great thing and a difficult: a messenger to bear it. 
The woods—y’ are not ignorant of that—lie thick with 
our ill-willers. Haste is most needful; but without 
sleight and caution all is nought. Which, then, of this 
company will take me this letter, bear it to my Lord 
of Wensleydale, and bring me the answer back?’ 

One man instantly arose. | 
“T will, an’t like you,” said he. “I will even risk my 
carcase.” | | 

“Nay, Dicky Bowyer, not so,” returned the knight. 
“Tt likes me not. Y’ are sly, indeed, but not speedy. 
Ye were a laggard ever.” 

“An’t be so, Sir Daniel, here am I,” cried another. 


“The saints forfend!” said the knight. “Y’ are _ 


speedy, but not sly. Ye would blunder me headfore- — 
most into John Amend-All’s camp. I thank you both 
for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be.” 
vires Hatch offered himself, and he also was re-~* 
fused. | 
“IT want you here, good Bennet; y’ are my right 
hand, indeed,” returned the knight; and then several 
coming forward in a group, Sir Daniel at length se- 
lected one and gave him the letter. | 
“Now,” he said, “upon your good speed and better 
discretion we do all depend. Bring me a good answer 
back, and before three weeks I will have purged my 
forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces. 
But mark it well, Throgmorton: the matter is not easy. 
Ye must steal forth under night, and go like a fox; and 


how ye are to cross the Till I know not, neither by the 


bridge nor ferry.” 

“T can swim,” returned Throgmorton. “I will come 
soundly, fear not.” | 

“Well, friend, get ye to the buttery,” replied Sir 
Daniel, ‘Ye shall swim first of all in nut-brown ale.” 
And with that he turned back into the hall. 

“Sir Daniel hath a wise tongue,” said Hatch, aside, 
to Dick. “See, now, where many a lesser man had 
glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out plajaly to 
his company. Here is a danger, ’a saith, and here 


LAN > 2 PR RA ass 
BAe eh “UCT an 
eR 
5 W " 1 a 


aut ad i A THE BLACK ARROW 


difficulty : and jesteth in the very saying. Nay, be 
- Saint Barbary, he is a born captain! Not a man but 
int ’ he is some deal heartened up! See how they fall again 
to work.” } 
a This praise of Sir Daniel put a thought in the lad’s ~ 
head. . 
Me “Bennet,” he said, “how came my father by his 
- end? 9 4 
_ “Ask me not that,” replied Hatch. “I had no hand ; 

! 


- nor knowledge in it; furthermore, I will even be silent, 
_ Master Dick. For look you, in a man’s own business, 
there he may speak; but of hearsay matters and of 
common talk, not so. Ask me Sir Oliver—ay, or Car- 
ter, if ye will; not me.” ( 
And Hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving Dick 
in a muse. A 
“Wherefore would he not tell me?” thought the 4 
jad. “And wherefore named he Carter? ,Carter—nay, ‘ 
then Carter had a hand in it, perchance.” 
He entered the house, and passing some little way | 4 
along a flagged and vaulted passage, came to the door 
of the cell where the hurt man lay groaning. At his ~ 
entrance Carter started eagerly. ; 
‘“‘Have ye brought the priest?” he cried. 4 
“Not yet awhile,” returned Dick. “Y’ ’ave a word ~ 
to tell me first. How came my father, Harry Shelton, i 
‘by his death?” a 
The man’s face altered instantly. 
“I know not,” he replied, doggedly. 
“Nay, ye. know well,’ returned Dick, “Seek not to 
put me by.” 
“T tell you I know not, ” repeated Carter. 
“Then,” said Dick, “ye shall die unshriven. Here 
aml, and here shall stay. There shall no priest come 
near you, rest assured. For of what avail is penitence, 
an ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a 
hand in? and without penitence, confession is but . 
mockery.” 
“Ye say what ye mean not, Master Dick,” said Car- 
ter, ecnmposedly. ‘It is ill threatening the dying, and 
_ becometh you (to speak truth) little. And for as little ye 


, 


9 eu ve ey Pad rah, Aye beets Sy ah AR ia as Serr erie: wt me 


rf ¥ 


' 


THE BLACK ARROW Peanee. 


as it commends you, it shall serve you less. Stay,an _ 


ye please. Ye will condemn my soul—ye shall learn 
nothing! There is my last word to you.” And the 
wounded man turned upon the other side. 

Now, Dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and 
was ashamed of his threat. But he made one more 
effort. | 

“Carter,” he said, “mistake me not. I know ye 
were but an instrument in the hands of others; a 
churl must obey his lord; I would not bear heavily on 
such an one. But I begin to learn upon many sides 
that this great duty lieth on my youth and ignorance, 
to avenge my father. Prithee, then, good Carter, set 
aside the memory of my threatenings, and in pure 
lan and honest penitence, give me a word of 

e 39 

The wounded man lay silent; nor, say what Dick 
pleased, could he extract another word from him 

“Well,” said Dick, “I will go call the priest to you 
as ye desired; for howsoever ye be in fault to me or 
mine, I would not be willingly in fault to any, least © 
of all to one upon the last change.” | 

Again the old soldier heard him without speech or 
motion; even his groans he had suppressed; and as_ 
Dick turned and left the room, he was filled with 
admiration for that rugged fortitude. 

“And yet,” he thought, “of what use is courage 
without wit? Had his hands been clean, he would 
have spoken; his silence did confess the secret louder 
than words. Nay, upon all sides, proof floweth on 
me. Sir Daniel, he or his men, hath done this thing.” 

Dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy, heart. 
At that hour, in the ebb of Sir Daniel’s fortune, when 
he was beleaguered by the archers of the Black Arrow, 
and proscribed by the victorious Yorkists, was Dick, 


also, to turn upon the man who had nourished and | | i 


taught him, who had severely punished indeed, but yet 

unwearyingly protected his youth? The necessity, if 

it should prove to be one, was cruel. | 
“Pray Heaven he be innocent!” he said. } 
And then steps sounded on the flagging, and Sir 


* 


86. THE BLACK ARROW 


Oliver came gravely towards the lad. 
“One seeketh you earnestly,” said Dick. a 
“T am upon the way, good Richard,” said the priest. | 

“It is this poor Carter. Alack, he is beyond cure.’ “ 
“And yet his soul is sicker than his body,” answered — 

- Dick. a 

“Have ye seen him?” asked Sir Oliver, with a mani- 


Poo ofest start. 


: 
“T do but come from him,” replied Dick. 
| “What said he—what said he?” snapped the priest, if 
with extraordinary eagerness. } 
‘He but cried for you the more piteously, Sir Oliver. 1 

_ It were well done to go the faster, for his hurt is © 
grievous,’ returned the lad. 4 
_ *¥ am straight for him,” was the reply. “Well, we — 
have all our sins. We must all come to our latter day, — 
good Richard.” ’ 

“Ay, sir; and it were well if we all came fairly,” an- 
swered Dick. : 

The priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible 
benediction hurried on. 

“He, too!” thought Dick—“‘he, that taught me in 
piety! Nay, then, what a world is this, if all that care 
for me be blood- guilty of my father’s death! Ven- 
geance! Alas! what a sore fate is mine, if I must be 
avenged upon my friends!’ a 

The thought put Matcham in his head. He smiled — 
at the remembrance of his strange companion, and ~ 


_ then wondered where he was. Ever since they had ~ 


come together to the doors of the Moat House the — 
younger lad had disappeared, and Dick began to weary 
for a word with him. 

About an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily 
run through by Sir Oliver, the company gathered in — 
the hall for dinner. It was a long, low apartment, — 
strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with ~ 
arras in a design of savage men and questing blood- — 
hounds; here and there hung spears and bows and ~ 
bucklers; a fire blazed in the big chimney; there were t 
arras-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst his 
the table, fairly spread, awaited the arrival of the “a 


¢4 bie ‘ L 
‘ a Ten 
att 


jr ¥ 4 7 
wok +7 eh 4 


diners. Neither Sir Daniel nor his lady made their 


appearance. Sir Oliver himself was absent, and here © iN 


again there was no word of Matcham. Dick began to 
grow alarmed, to recall his companion’s melancholy 
forebodings, and to wonder to himself if any foul play 
had befallen him in that house. 


“Ah, Master Dick, y’ have a famous bright eye in your head, 


to be sure!” 


After dinner he found Goody Hatch, who was ie : 


rying to my lady Brackley. 
“Goody,” he said, “where is Master Matcham, I 
prithee? I saw ye go in with him when we arrived.” ni 
The old. woman laughed aloud. 
“Ah, Master Dick,” she said, “y’ have a famous 


Weigel W STL te RT eT EP Re ae AAR TA te PM A Wea OO ee 
4 ty aie %4 hy ip uA gE NEN ete 1G ee mR eRe 
ae J Pid hing ne 5 ; UME a Nar f 


THE BLACK ARROW — 87 


Mae oe 


88 ~~‘ THE BLACK ARROW 


again. — 

“Nay, but where is he, indeed ? 2” persisted Dick. 

“Ye will never see him more,” she returned; “never. 
It is sure.” 

“An I do not,” returned the lad, “I will know the 

reason why. He came not hither of his full free will; 
such as I am, I am his best protector, and I will see 

him justly used. There be too many mysteries; I do 

_ begin to weary of the game!” 

But as Dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his 

- gshoulder.. It was Bennet Hatch that had come unper- 
- eeived behind him. With a jerk of his thumb the 

_ retainer dismissed his wife. 

“Friend Dick,” he said, as soon as they were alone, 

Ao are ye a moonstruck natural? An ye leave not cer- 
' tain things in peace, ye were better in the salt sea 

than here in Tunstall Moat House. Y’ have questioned 

me; y’ have baited Carter; y’ have frightened the jack- 

_ priest with hints. Bear ye more wisely, fool; and even 
how, when Sir Daniel calleth you, show me a smooth 

face, for the love of wisdom. Y’ are to be sharply 

questioned. Look to your answers.” 

¥ “Hatch,” returned Dick, “in all this I smell a guilty 
conscience.” 

“An ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell blood,” 

replied Bennet. “I do but warn you. And here cometh 

ae one to call you.” 

_ And indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came 

au across the court to summon Dick into the presence of 

ane Daniel. 


_ bright eye in your head, to be sure!” and Jaughed : 


CHAPER II 
THE TWO OATHS 


S DANIEL was in the hall; there he paced angrily 


before the fire, awaiting Dick’s arrival. None was 

by except Sir Oliver, and he sat discreetly back- 
ward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary. - . 
“Y’ have sent for me, Sir Daniel?” said young Shel- 


on. | 
“T have sent for you, indeed,” replied the knight. 


“For what cometh to mine ears? Have I been to you 


so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to credit ill ~ 
of me? Or sith that ye see me, for the nonce, some 
worsted, do ye think to quit my party? By the mass, 


your father was not so! Those he was near, those he 


stood by, come wind or weather. But you, Dick, y’ are — 


a fair-day friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear 
yourself of your allegiance.” 


“An ’t please you, Sir Daniel, not so,” returned Dick, , 
firmly. “I am grateful and faithful, where gratitude 


and faith are due. And before more ig said, I thank 


you, and I thank Sir Oliver; y’ have great claims upon 


me, both—none can have more; I were a hound if I 
forgot them.” 


“It is well,” said Sir Daniel; and then, rising into 


anger: “Gratitude and faith are words, Dick Shelton,” 


he continued; “but I look to deeds. In this hour of my — 
peril, when my name is attainted, when my lands are ~ 
forfeit, when this wood is full of men that hunger and — 
thirst for my destruction, what doth gratitude? What — 
doth faith? I have but a little company remaining; | 


is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts with 


your insidious whisperings? Save mefrom such grati- _ 
tude! But, come, now, what is it ye wish? Speak; 
we are here to answer. If ye have aught against me, 


89 


" Py Sen sal, pe Oe a Bal on Ope NAS Bhi Sam Lie Petals ee ere eee Le vm Pam 
yk: th os Oy ie ta RA ep POT Pee eet RN A Ly ane MD OAAP hee 1D Yes haw, Re Bey 
, \ ; 4 PAL aaa eee ? A ey eh gh ’ : \. - f 4 4 
a \ a ; ' n i ab j { : : 


, Pi pe } Ay che Pa 
* : oie” ; 


Fes oe 


90 THE BLACK ARROW — 
- stand forth and say it.” 


“Sir,” replied Dick, “my father fell when I was yet . 


a child. It hath come to mine ears that he was foully 


: a done by. It hath come to mine ears—for I will not dis- 


semble—that ye had a hand in his undoing. And in all 


__verity,—I shall not be at peace of mine own mind, nor — 
very clear to help you, till I have certain resolution of 
these doubts.” 
sir Daniel sat down in a deep settle. He took his 


chin in his hand and looked at Dick fixedly. 
“And ye think I would be guardian to the man’s son 
_ that I had murdered?” he asked. 
“Nay,” said Dick, ‘pardon me if I answer churl- 
- ishly; but indeed ye know right well a wardship is 
most profitable. All these years have ye not enjoyed 
my revenues, an led my men? Have ye not still my 


: . marriage? I w.t not what it may be worth—it is 


worth something. Pardon me again; but if ye were 
base enough to slay a man under trust, here were, 
perhaps, reasons enough to move you to the lesser 


- _baseness.” 


‘‘When I was a lad of your years,’ returned Sir 
Daniel, sternly, “my mind had not so turned upon sus- 
picions. And Sir Oliver here,” he added, “why should 


oS he, a priest, be guilty of this act?” 


+ *Nay, Sir Daniel,’ said Dick, “but where the master 

_ -biddeth, there will the dog go. It is well known this 
- - priest is but your instrument. I speak very freely; 
the time is not for courtesies. Even as I speak, so 


would I be answered. And answer get I none! Ye 


but put more questions. I rede ye beware, Sir Daniel; 


_ for in this way ye will but nourish and not satisfy my, 


doubts.”’ 


“J will answer you fairly, Master Richard,” said the - 


knight. “Were I to pretend ye have not stirred my 
wrath, I were no honest man. But I will be just even 


- + in anger. Come to me with these words when y’ are 


grown and come to man’s estate, and I am no longer 
your guardian, and so helpless to resent them. Come 
to me then, and I will answer you as ye merit, with a 


: _ buffet in the mouth. ‘Till then ye have two courses: “) 


f 2 
i 


( 


Mi 
" 


: 


a 


THE BLACK ARROW 91 


either swallow me down these insults, keep a silent 


~~ 


tongue, and fight in the meanwhile for the man that 
fed and fought for your infancy; or else-—the door 
standeth open, the woods are full of mine enemies— 
go.” 

The spirit with which these words were uttered, the 
looks with which they were accompanied, staggered 


Dick; and yet he could not but observe that he had 


got no answer. 

“I desire nothing more earnestly, Sir Daniel, than 
to believe you,” he replied. “Assure me ye are free 
from this.” 

“Will ye take my word of honour, Dick?” inquired, 
the knight. 

“That would I,” answered the lad. 

“I give it you,” returned Sir Daniel. “Upon my 
word of honour, upon the eternal welfare of my spirit, | 
and as I shall answer for my deeds hereafter, I had no — 
hand nor portion in your father’s death.”’ 

He extended his hand, and Dick took it eagerly. 


Neither of them observed the priest, who, at the pro- _ 
- nunciation of that solemn and false oath, had half 


arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and remorse. 
“Ah,” cried Dick, “ye must find it in your great- © 
heartedness to pardon me! I was a churl indeed to 
doubt of you. But ye have my hand upon it; I 
will doubt no more.’ 
“Nay, Dick,” replied Sir Daniel, “y’ are forgiven. 
Ye know not the world and its calumnious nature.” : 
“T was the more to blame,” added Dick, “in that the 
Nba pointed, not directly at yourself, but at Sir 
iver 


As he spoke, he turned towards the priest, and ago, 


paused in the middle of the last word. This tall, ruddy, 
corpulent, high-stepping man had fallen, you might 
say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his limbs were re- 
laxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when 
Dick’s eyes were fixed upon him suddenly, he cried out 
paid, like some wild animal, and buried his face in his 
ands. 
Sir Daniel was by him in two steers and shook him > 


we ae yee st ca pee ca at on eed a MP GaN oda UES NPAT Pal VN SUA 
UE a gt ee RL 


Wy, CURE hy Ae a Oe Sa a a eo A ME BOW. Pe ith Sp 
UA TN GOH: SMe cua al pl 
PAA Bh hw Dediky hay sen Ya LC 


2) hey ‘ t + i i Dt 
2p ; " W hes (ati ; 


pt tye 
q . 4 
ry ‘ia ; 


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ea Pa 
OR a ait), 
x 4 
aA 

ot x AY 
Wy | 
1 

& 
Mas 


at 
it 
thy 
«i 
A) ; 
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ft 
ij 
4 
f 5 ZA . f HUH Y 
Ai ( Naa se ote | 
hg Lip SYM 2A | | 
if fy 
iS , ei pigs Med 1 
i io, Wie 4 HUE . 
7, f (\ 4a Sa j 
if WS’ WEE ee 4s 
AS g 
ef ‘ 
ae 


“Whence came that shot?” asked the knight. 


fiercely by the shoulder. At the same moment Dick’s 
suspicions reawakened. 

_ “Nay,” he said, “Sir Oliver may swear also. *T'was 

him they accused.”’ 

_“He shall swear,” said the knight. | ‘ 

Sir Oliver speechlessly waved his arms. , 

a “Ay, by the mass! but ye shall swear,” cried Sir 7 

_ Daniel, beside himself with fury. “Here, upon this A 

book, ye shall swear,” he continued, picking up the 4 

_ breviary, which had fallen to the ground. ‘What! 


OMG OY oe TROT SUE Sasa taro bhp, pet bas 
> : igs VR. 


THE BLACK ARROW 93 


Ye make me doubt you! Swear, I say; swear.” 

But the priest was still incapable of speech. His 
terror of Sir Daniel, his terror of perjury, risen to 
about an equal height, strangled him. 

And just then, through the high stained-glass win- 
dow of the hall, a black arrow crashed, and struck, and 
stuck quivering in the midst of the long table. 

Sir Oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on the 
rushes; while the knight, followed by Dick, dashed into 
the court and up the nearest corkscrew stair to the 
battlements. The sentries were all on the alert. The 
sun shone quietly on green lawns dotted with trees, 
and on the wooded hills of the forest which enclosed 
the view. There was no sign of a besieger. | 

“Whence came that shot?” asked the knight. 
+ reve yonder clump, Sir Daniel,’ returned a sen-— 
inel. 

The knight stood a little, musing. Then he turned 
to Dick. “Dick,” he said, “keep me an eye upon these 
men; I leave you in charge here. As for the priest, he 
shall clear himself, or I will know the reason why. 
do almost begin to share in your suspicions. He shall 
swear, trust me, or we shall prove him guilty.” 

Dick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, giv- 
ing him a piercing glance, hurriedly returned to 
the hall. His first glance was for the arrow. It was the 
first of these missiles he had seen, and as he turned it 
to and fro, the dark hue of it touched him with some 
fear. Again there was some writing: one word— 
“Earthed.” | 
“Ay,” he broke out, “they know I am home, then. 


Earthed! Ay, but there is not a dog among them fit — 


to dig me out.” 


“Sir Oliver had come to himself, and now scrambled 


to his feet. ‘“Alack, Sir Daniel!’’ he moaned, “y’ ’ave 
sworn a dread oath; y’ are doomed to the end of time.” 
“Ay,” returned the knight, “I have sworn an oath, 
indeed, thou chuckle-head; but thyself shalt swear a 
_ greater. It shall be on the blessed cross of Holywood. 
Look to it; get the words ready. It shall be sworn 
to-night,” 


94 ~~ ‘THE BLACK ARROW 


“Now, may Heaven lighten you!” replied the priest; 


‘may Heaven incline your heart from this iniquity!” _ 


“Took you, my good father,” said Sir Daniel, “if 


| - y’ are for piety, I say no more; ye begin late, that is 


all. Butif y’ are in any sense bent upon wisdom, hear 
me. This lad beginneth to irk me like a wasp. I have 


a need for him, for I would sell his marriage. But I 


tell you, in all plainness, if that he continues to weary 
“me, he shall go join his father. I give orders now to 


i _ change him to the chamber above the chapel. If that 


ye can swear your innocency with a good solid oath 
and an assured countenance, it is well; the lad will be 
at peace a little, and I will spare him. If that ye stam- 
mer or blench, or anyways boggle at the swearing, he 


me will not believe you; and by the mass, he shall die. 


_ There is for your thinking on.” 


“The chamber above the chapel!” gasped the priest. | 


“That same,” replied the knight. ‘So if ye desire to 
save him, save him; and if ye desire not, prithee, go 
to, and let me be at peace! For an I had been an hasty 
man, I would already have put my sword through you, 
for your intolerable cowardice and folly. Have ye 
chosen? Say!’ 

“I have chosen,” said the priest. “Heaven pardon 


me, I will do evil for good. I will swear for the lad’s . 


sake.” 
“So is it best!” said Sir Daniel. “Send for him then, 


speedily. Ye shall see him alone. Yet I shall have an 
eye on you. I shall be here in the panel room.” 


ae The knight raised the arras and let it fall again be- 
_ hind him. There was the sound of a spring opening; 


_ then followed the creaking of trod stairs. i 
Sir Oliver, left alone, cast a timorous glance upward 


at the arras-covered wall, and crossed himself with 
every appearance of terror and contrition. 
“Nay, if he is in the chapel room,” the priest mur- 
mured, “were it at my soul’s cost, I must save him.” 
Three minutes later, Dick, who had been summoned 


. _ by another messenger, found Sir Oliver standing by 


the hall table, resolute and pale. 
“Richard Shelton,” he said, “ye have required an 


uy 
epi 
+) het 


“™ et: 4 
eo =4 
gene ‘ E E : 
aS et ia a ss = 
(a See eee ee eS eee te = ee 


OS tw ey, 


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ae 


aN 


i, pee 54 
- ¥ = 


IT ASH Cua 


SS eee oe eee ee ee 


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Ez veo a F 7 Pe erry if 4.78 WN # a “PL wre ‘ 47 
PERL MEE ATTRA BAL RUHR wf IT RT TL MN) yc REO 
’ Cae * if ee Ae ae? a) eae ” 
4 : 4 . > i 4 } 
: 
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THE BLACK ARROW Pi Ga 


oath from me. I might complain, I might deny you; 


but my heart is moved toward you for the past, and 


I will even content you as ye choose. By the true cross 
of Holywood, I did not slay your father.” i" 

“Sir Oliver,” returned Dick, “when first we read 
John Amend-All’s paper, I was convinced of so much. 
But suffer me to put two questions. Ye did not slay 
him; granted. But had ye no hand in it?” 

“None,” said Sir Oliver. And at the same time he 
began to contort his face, and signal with his mouth > 
and eyebrows, like one who desires to convey a Warn- 
ing, yet dared not utter a sound. 

Dick regarded him in wonder; then he turned and 
looked all about him at the empty hall. 

“What make ye?” he inquired. 

“Why, naught,” returned the priest, hastily smooth- 
ing his countenance. ‘I make naught; I do but suffer; 
I am sick. I—IJ—prithee, Dick, I must be gone. On 
the true cross of Holywood, I am clean innocent alike 


of violence or treachery. Content ye, good lad. Fare- 


well!” 

And he made his escape from the apartment with 
unusual alacrity. i 

Dick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes -wander- 
ing about the room, his face a changing picture of vari- 
ous emotions—wonder, doubt, suspicion and amuse-- 
ment. Gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion | 
took the upper hand, and was succeeded by certainty 
of the worst. He raised his head, and, as he did so, 
violently started. High upon the wall there was the 
figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry. With 
one hand he held a horn to his mouth; in the other he - 
brandished a stout spear. His face was dark, for he 
was meant to represent an African. 

Now here was what startled Richard Shelton. The 


sun had moved away from the hall windows, and at — _ 


the same time the fire had blazed up high on the wide | 
hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and 


hangings. In this light the figure of the black hunter _ 


had winked at him with a white eyelid. 
He continued staring at the eye. The light shone 


aes THE BLACK ARROW — 


TSP ARYA othe RG RN ENS APRA OR BLE REINS LY BHA NU AG 
PES A YA a AC ee ai te 


Dh heres. i" 
hin ty 
As 


the white eyelid closed upon it for a fraction of a sec- 


| _ ond, and the next moment it was gone. 


‘There could be no mistake. The live eye that had 


And instantly Dick awoke to the terrors of his posi- 
tion. Hatch’s warning, the mute signals of the priest, 
this eye that had observed him from the wall, ran to- 


gether in his mind. He saw he had been put upon his 


trial, that he had once more betrayed his suspicions, 
and that, short of some miracle, he was lost. 

ie ba cannot get me forth out of this house,” he 
thought, “I am a dead man! And this poor Matcham, 
too—to what a cockatrice’s nest have I not led him!” 
He was still so thinking, when there came one in 
haste, to bid him help in changing his arms, his cloth- 
ing, and his two or three books, to a new chamber. 

“A new chamber?” he repeated. “Wherefore so? 
~ What chamber?” 

“*Tis one above the chapel,” answered the messen- 
ger. 

“It hath stood long empty,” said Dick, musing. 


“What manner of room is it?” 


Tt 


“Nay, a brave room,” returned the man. “But yet’ 


_ —lowering his voice—‘they call it haunted.” 


“Haunted?” repeated Dick, with a chill. “I have not 
heard of it. Nay, then, and by whom?” 

The messenger looked about him; and then, in a low 
whisper, “‘By the sacrist of St. J ohn’ s,” he said. ‘“They 
-had him there to sleep one night, and in the morning— 
whew !—he was gone. The devil had taken him, they 
said; the more betoken, he had drunk late the night 
before.” 

Dick followed the man with black forebodings. 


upon it like a gem; it was liquid, it was alive. Again ' 


A Ape watching him through an hole in the tapestry — 
- wasgone. The firelight no longer shone on a reflecting 
 - surface. 


ee ee 


Hy 


CHAPTER III 
THE ROOM OVER THE CHAPEL 


ROM the battlements nothing further was ob- 


served. The sun journeyed westward and at last 


went down; but to the eyes of all these eager 


- sentinels, no living thing appeared in the neighbour- 
- hood of Tunstall House. 


When the night was at length fairly come, Throg- 


- morton was led to a room overlooking an angle of the 
moat. Thence he was lowered with every precaution; | 
the ripple of his swimming was audible for a brief — 
period; then a black figure was observed to land by 
_ the branches of a willow and crawl away among the 

- grass. For some half hour Sir Daniel and Hatch stood 
eagerly giving ear; but all remained quiet. The mes- — 


senger had got away in safety. 

Sir Daniel’s brow grew clearer. He turned to 
Hatch. 

“Bennet,” said he, ‘‘this John Amend-All is no more 


than a man, ye see. He sleepeth. We will make a good > 


end of him. Go to!’ 

All the afternoon and evening Dick had been ordered 
hither and thither, one command following another, till 
he was bewildered with the number and the hurry of 


commissions. All that time he had seen no more of 


Sir Oliver, and nothing of Matcham; and yet both the 
priest and the young lad ran continually in his mind. 
It was now his chief purpose to escape from Tunstall 


Moat House as speedily as might be; and yet, before ; 


_ he went, he desired a word with both of these. | 


At length, with a lamp in one hand, he mounted to 
his new apartment. It was large, low, and somewhat . 


dark. The window looked upon the moat, and although 


_ it was so high up, it was heavily barred. The bed was __ 


97 


a zm 76.7, \ FY eb eh set i OR Pk mare ene a PY Minded ¢ 
| a f Se PAL eae aby " fy y v t f ; yi Si}! " 1 4 i 5 ul , x ¥v 
= Baa eT alien eed She Se / ie ‘ 
af +} : d t ‘ Wises 

Vui’ “eb ‘ ; x 


98 THE BLACK ARROW | 


luxurious, with one pillow of down, and one of laven- — 


der, and a red coverlet worked in a pattern of roses. 


S 
‘ 
A 


Ali about the walls were cupboards, locked and pad- — 
locked, and concealed from view by hangings of dark- — 


coloured arras. Dick made the round, lifting the arras, 


e sounding the panels, seeking vainly to open the cup- © 


_ boards. He assured himself that the door was strong, 
and the bolt solid; then he set down his lamp upon a 
bracket, and once more looked all around. | 

For what reason had he been given this chamber? 
It was larger and finer than his own. Could it conceal 
a snare? Was there a secret entrance? Was it indeed 
haunted? His blood ran a little chilly in his veins. 

Immediately over him the heavy foot of a sentry 
trod the leads. Below him, he knew, was the arched 
roof of the chapel; and next to the chapel was the hall. 
Certainly there was a secret passage in the hall; the 
eye that had watched him from the arras gave him 


proof of that. Was it not more than probable that the 


passage extended to the chapel, and if so, that it had 
an opening in his room? 

To sleep in such a place, he felt, would be foolhardy. 
He made his weapons ready, and took his position in 
a corner of the room behind the door. If ill was in- 
tended he would sell his life dear. 

' The sound of many feet, the challenge, and the pass- 
word sounded overhead along the battlements; the 
watch was being changed. 

3 And just then there came a scratching at the door 
of the chamber; it grew a little louder; then a whisper: 

‘Dick, Dick, it is I!’ 

Dick ran to the door, drew the bolt, and admitted 
Matcham. He was very pale, and carried a lamp in 
one hand and a drawn dagger in the other. 


“Shut me the door,” he whispered. ‘Swift, Dick! — 


This house is full of spies; I hear their feet follow me 

in the corridors; I hear them breathe behind the 

arras.” 

“Well, content you,” returned Dick, “it is closed. 
We are safe for this while, if there be safety anywhere 


es within these walls. But my heart is glad to see you. 


’ 


RR VT as eGR MGT NTE Tatar, Ht 
? : He re xt ie aed Le Yep as: 7, a t 
te L) egy ee ° ia. 4 \ 
k Rw ut ys Wn Pea PUA 4 
~ : , j \! 
aah 


e 
aa bl 

4 

" % 


By, the mass, lad, I thought ye were sped. Where hid 
y 


be met, it matters not. But, Dick, are your eyes open? 


_ Have they told ye of to-morrow’s doings?” 


“Not they,” replied Dick. “What make they of to- 


- morrow?” 


life. I had the proof of it: I have heard them whisper; 


you. Any’ are to die, I will die with you. And I can — ie 
help—look! I have stolen a dagger—TI willdo my best! — 


“To-morrow or to-night, I know not,” said the other; | 


“but one time or other, Dick, they do intend upon your 


nay, they as good as told me.” 

“Ay,” returned Dick, “is it so? I had thought as 
much.” 

And he told him the day’s occurrences at length. 

When it was done, Matcham arose and began, in 
turn, to examine the apartment. 


“No, ” he said, “there is no entrance visible. Yet 


*tis a pure certainty there is one. Dick, I will stay by 


And meanwhile, an ye know of any issue, any sally- 
port we could get opened, or any window that we might 


descend by, I will most joyfully face any jeopardy to Me 


flee with you.” 
“Jack,” said Dick, “by the mass, Jack, y’ are the 
best soul, and the truest, and the bravest in all Eng- 


- land! Give me your hand, Jack.” 


And he grasped the other’ s hand in aileniens 


“T will tell you,” he resumed. “There is a window 


_ out of which the messenger descended ; the rope should 
_ still be in the chamber. ’Tis a hope.” 


“Hist!” said Matcham. 


Both gave ear. There was a sound below the floor; 


: then it paused, and then began again. 


d Secret passage. Well, let him come: it shall go hard | 
with him!” And he ground his teeth. Ms: 


i “Blow me the lights out,” said the other. ‘“Per- — i 


“Some one walketh in the room below,” whispered 


- Matcham. ey 
_ “Nay,” returned Dick, “there is no room below; 


THE BLACK ARROW 99 


Ht matters not,” returned Matcham. “Since we — | 


we are above the chapel. It is my murderer in the pines 


i i ‘THE BLACK snow 


: My chance he will betray himself.” 


- .They blew out both the lamps and lay still as death. 
The footfalls underneath were very soft, but they 


were clearly audible. Several times they came and 


went; and then there was a loud jar of a key turning 
In a lock, followed by a considerable silence. 
Presently the steps began again, and then, all of 


en he sudden, a chink of light appeared in the planking 
of the room in a far corner. It widened; a trap-door 
was being opened, letting in a gush of light. They 


could see the strong hand pushing it up; and Dick 

-fTaised his crossbow, waiting for the head to follow. 
But now there came an interruption. From a dis- 

tant corner of the Moat House shouts began to be 


heard, and first one voice, and then several, crying 
aloud upon a name. This noise had plainly discon- 


_certed the murderer, for the trap-door was silently 
lowered to its place, and the steps hurriedly returned, 
passed once more close below the lads, and died away 
in the distance. 

Here was a moment’s respite.’ Dick breathed deep, 
and then, and not till then, he gave ear to the dis- 


: u turbance which had interrupted the attack, and which 


- ‘was now rather increasing than diminishing. All about 
_ the Moat House feet were running, doors were open- 
Ing and slamming, and still the voice of Sir Daniel 


. towered above all this bustle, shouting for “Joanna.” 


“Joanna!” repeated Dick. ‘‘Why, who the murrain 


should this be? Here is no J oanna, nor ever hath been. — 


~ What meaneth it?” 
 Matcham was silent. He seemed to have drawn 
further away. But only a little faint starlight entered 
by the window, and at the far end of the apartment, 
where the pair were, the darkness was complete. 
“Jack,” said Dick, “I wot not where ye were all day. 
saw ye this Joanna? 2” 
“Nay,” returned Matcham, “I saw her not.” 
“Nor heard tell of her?” he pursued. 
The steps drew nearer. Sir Daniel was still roaring 
_ the name of Joanna from the courtyard. 
“Did ye hear of her?” repeated Dick. 


7 Kf Peo ane ce Leet oe OR AVERY UP TE eS Ue Re 
(8 ht ad Th Ala ac i Oa as ae 
AB ott AAs ete va Fin drat oe aaa Woe 
Pia FL PLE PPA OS ELy DMB) af fi)! 4 


_ “T heard of her,” said Matcham. 

- How your voice twitters! What aileth you?” said 

{ Dick. “’Tis a most excellent good fortune, this Jo- 
anna; it will take their minds from us.’ 

| ‘Dick, ” cried Matcham, “TI am lost; we are both lost! 

Let us flee if there be yet time. They will not rest 

-till they have found me. Or, see; let me go forth; 

_ when they have found me, ye may flee. Let me forth, 

- Dick—good Dick, let me away!” 

_ She was groping for the bolt, when Dick at last 

~ comprehended. 

“By the mass!” he cried, 

: peenna Sedley; y’ are the inlay that would not marry 

rane: 

_ The girl paused, and stood silent and motionless. 

_ Dick, too, was silent for a little while; then he spoke 

again. 

- “Joanna,” he said, “y’ ’ave saved my life, and I have 

saved yours; and we have seen blood flow, and been 

friends and enemies—ay, and I took my belt to thrash 


aps di 


PESOS 6 -_ 
Me Fae ee 


now death has me, and my time’s out, and before I 


ae 


bravest under heaven, and, if only I could live, I would 
marry you blithely; and, live or die, I love you!” 

She answered nothing. 

“Come,” he said, “speak up, Jack. Come, be a good 
‘maid, and say ye love me!” 

“Why, Dick,” she cried, “would I be here?” 


oe eee 


escape whole, we’ll marry, and an we’re to die, we die, 
and there’s an end on’t. But now that I think, how 
found ye my chamber?” 

“T asked it of Dame Hatch,” she answered. 

“Well, the dame’s staunch,” he answered, “she'll not 
tell upon you. We have time before us.’ 


APP TS py eee 


the door. 


Dick neither moved nor answered. 


i 6 a 


THE BLACK ARROW  __ 101. 


are no Jack; y’ are 


you; and all that time I thought ye were:a boy. But — 
die I must say this: Y’ are the best maid and the 


“Well, see ye here,” continued Dick, “an we but 


And just then, as if to contradict his words, feet a 
came down the corridor, and a fist beat roughly on 


/ ta 


“Here!” cried a voice. “Open, Master Dick; open!” 


oe BLACK. cane 


 ‘stoutly! 


ee ie Bh ie eas Wee «HOS Obie Yar a GOL dU) Ret awa DOW eg aN in 2 tke 
ORES MD OMS: aA a Ln Ma Ay Rah aaa a ‘Nh Bk is Pat sey Ca a ote amt 

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fh ) i ren Bah NY \ 


i ‘ ih eas b wv) , 
Hand Gd oe ag , 
i ae aha: a WYE 


; “Tt is all over,” said the girl; and she put her arms — ; 
~~ about Dick’s neck. 


One after another, men came trooping to the door. 


Then Sir Daniel arrived himself, and there was a 
‘ sudden cessation of the noise. 


“Dick,” cried the knight, ‘be not an ass. The 


- Seven Sleepers had been awake ere now. We know 
she is within there. Open, then, the door, man.” 


Dick was silent again. 
“Down with it,” said Sir Daniel. And immediately 
his followers fell savagely upon the door with foot 


and fist. Solid as it was, and strongly bolted, it would — 


soon have given way, but once more fortune inter- 


fered. Over the thunderstorm of blows the cry of a 


sentinel was heard; it was followed by another; shouts © 
ran along the battlements, shouts answered out of the © 


the foresters were carrying the Moat House by assault. 
And Sir Daniel and his men, desisting instantly from 


their attack upon Dick’s chamber, hurried to defend 


the walls. 
“Now,” cried Dick, “we are saved.” 


‘wood. In the first moment of alarm it sounded as if 


He seized the great old bedstead with both hands 


and bent himself in vain to move it. 


“Help me, Jack. For your life’s sake, help me 


1? 


he cried. 


- Between them, with a huge effort, they dragged the — 


big frame of oak across the room, and thrust it end- 


wise to the chamber door. 


“Ye do but make things worse,” said Joanna, sadly. 


_ “He will then enter by the trap.” 


“Not so,” replied Dick. “He durst not tell his secret | 


_ tosomany. It is by the trap that we shall flee. Hark! 
_ The attack is over. Nay, it was none!” | 


It had, indeed, been no attack; it was the areivel 
of another party of stragglers from the defeat of — 


run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; they © 


Risingham that had disturbed Sir Daniel. They had > 


had been admitted by the great gate; and now with — ‘ 


2 great stamping of hoofs and jingle of accoutrements — 


and arms, they were dismounting i in the court. 


, 


Gog - iV 5 Le i 4 iti wisi nae AY 4 rie. 
Rees: THE BLACK ARROW 108 


“He will return anon,” said Dick. “To the trap!” 
He lighted a lamp, and they went together into the 
corner of the room. The open chink through which 
some light still glittered was easily discovered, and, 
taking a stout sword from his small armoury, Dick 


‘The trap moved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open. 
ee 
thrust it deep into the seam, and weighed strenuously 
on the hilt. The trap moved, gaped a little, and at 
length came widely open. Seizing it with their hands, 
the two young folk threw it back. It disclosed a few 
steps descending, and at the foot of them, where the 
- would-be murderer had left it, a burning lamp. 
nN “Now,” said Dick, “go first and take the lamp. I will 
follow to close the trap.” 

- So they descended one after the other,:and, as Dick 
| lowered the trap, the blows began once again to thun- 
der on the panels of the door. 


FOREN Rg BANE AR MMe RRS a a DS CAT) Ste OR UT A YT Le 
PTR Y GL eae BALSA Rec e URE Cee Rt NRE Aba Tun ee STALE MAO AU yah Ae | 

ves i : HAN ter matn sh Sie (5 2) ft ate 

6 _ ‘\ t: Pt \ oy ’ 


CHAPTER IV. 
THE PASSAGE 


HE passage in which Dick and Joanna now found ~ 
themselves was narrow, dirty and short. At the | 


. hoo 
. ‘ wh) 
of WS if wis 
His , 
5 , 


other end of it a door stood partly open; the 


same door, without doubt, that they had heard the ~ 


man unlocking. Heavy cobwebs hung from the roof, 
and the paved flooring echoed hollow under the light- 
est tread. 


- Beyond the door there were two’branches, at right © 


ae, Sa 


angles. Dick chose one of them at random, and the © 


pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along the hollow — 
of the chapel roof. The top of the arched ceiling rose © 


like a whale’s back in the dim glimmer of the lamp. © 
Here and there were spy-holes, concealed on the other — 


side, by the carving of the cornice; and looking down — 
through one of these, Dick saw the paved floor of the © 
chapel—the altar, with its burning tapers—and — 
- stretched before it on the steps, the figure of Sir Oliver 


praying with uplifted hands. 


At the other end, they descended a few steps. The 
passage grew narrower; the wall upon one hand was — 


now of wood; the noise of people talking, and a faint — 


flickering of lights, came through the interstices; and © 
presently they came to a round hole, about the size of © 


a man’s eye, and Dick, looking down through it, be- 
held the interior of the hall, and some half a dozen 
men sitting, in their jacks, about the table, drinking 
deep and demolishing a venison pie. These were cer- 
tainly some of the late arrivals. 3 | 

“Here is no help,” said Dick. “Let us try back.” 


ther.” 
104 


i 
: 


“Nay,” said Joanna; “maybe the passage goeth far- : 


: 


/ 


a 


f 


THE BLACK ARROW . 105 


And she pushed on. But a few yards farther the 
passage ended at the top of a short flight of steps; 
and it became plain that, as long as the soldiers oc- 
cupied the hall, escape was impossible upon that side. 

They retraced their steps with all imaginable speed, 
and set forward to explore the other branch. It was 
exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough for a large 
man; and it led them continually up and down by 
little breakneck stairs, until even Dick had lost all 
notion of his whereabouts. 

At length it grew both narrower and lower; the © 
stairs continued to descend; the walls on either hand 
became damp and slimy to the touch; and far in front 
of them they heard the squeaking and scuttling of 


i, rats. 


“We must be in the dungeons,” Dick remarked. 
“And still there is no outlet,” added Joanna. 
“Nay, but an outlet there must be!” 

Presently, sure enough, they came to a sharp angle, 
and then the passage ended in a flight of steps. On 
the top of that was a solid flag of stone by way of 
trap, and to this they both set their backs. It was 
immovable. | 

“Some one holdeth it,” suggested Joanna. 

“Not so,” said Dick, ‘for were a man as strong as 
ten he must still yield a little. But this resisteth like 
dead rock. There is a weight upon the trap. Here 
is no issue; and, by my sooth, Jack, we are here as 
fairly prisoners as though the gyves were on our ankle- 
bones. Sit ye then down and let us talk. After a 
while we shall return, when perchance they shall be 
less carefully upon their guard; and who knoweth? 
Wwe may break out and stand a chance. But, in my 
poor opinion, we are as good as shent.” 


Dick answered. _ 


“Dick!” she cried, “alas the day that ever ye should x 3 


have seen me! For like a most unhappy and unthank- 
ful maid, it is I have led you hither.” 


“What cheer!” returned Dick. “It was all written, ‘ih 


and that which is written, willy nilly, cometh still to 
pass. But tell me a little what manner of maid ye are, 
and hew ye came into Sir Daniel’s hands; that will do 


106 «sis THEE BLACK ARROW 


: better than to bemoan vourwalt: whether for your sake ~ ah 
or mine.’ 


“T am an orphan, like yourself, of father and 


mother,” said Joanna; “and for my great misfortune, 
- Dick, and hitherto for yours, I am a rich marriage. 


My Lord Foxham had me to ward; yet it appears Sir 


Daniel bought the marriage of me from the king, and 
aright dear price he paid for it. So here was IL, poor 
babe, with two great and rich men fighting which 
-. should marry me, and I still at nurse! Well, then the » 
world changed, and there was a new Chancellor, and 
- $ir Daniel bought the warding of me over Lord Fox- 


ham’s head. And then the world changed again, and 
Lord Foxham bought my marriage over Sir Daniel's; 
and from then to now it went on ill betwixt the two 


: 3 of them. But still Lord Foxham kept me in his hands, 
and was a good lord to me. And at last I was to be 
_. married—or sold, if ye like it better. Five hundred 


pounds Lord Foxham was to get for me. Hamley was 


the groom’s name, and to-morrow, Dick, of all days in 


the year, was I to be betrothed. Had it not come to 


Sir Daniel, I had been wedded, sure—and never seen 
thee, Dick—dear Dick!” 


: And here she took his hand and kissed it with the 
_ prettiest grace; and Dick drew her hand to him and 
_. did the like. 

“Well,” she went on, ‘Sir Daniel took me unawares 


ae in the garden, and made me dress in these men’s 
clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman; and, be- 
sides, they fit me not. He rode with me to Kettley, 


as ye saw, telling me I was to marry you; but I, in 


- my heart, made sure I would marry Hamley in ‘his 


4. teeth,” 
ee a cried Dick, “and so ye loved this Ham- 


uNay, ” replied Joanna, “not I. I did but hate Sir 


- Daniel. And then, Dick, ye helped me, and ye were 


right kind, and very bold, and my heart turned to- 


=S 


ee 


hp 
ae ee 


- 


°9 = ae af o—<4 » hi 
SS ee = 


wards you in my own despite; and now, if we can in _ 
any way compass it, I would marry you with right ~— 


u | goodwill. And if, by cruel destiny, it may not be, ! a 


‘ 


THE BLACK ARROW MEHR ak 


4 “stil yell be dear to me. While my heart beats, it’ll 
be true to you.’ 


“And I,” said Dick, “that never cared a straw for 
any manner of woman until now, I took to you when 


- I thought ye were a boy. I had a pity to you, and 
_ knew not why. When I would have belted you, my 


hand failed me. But when ye owned ye were a maid, 
Jack—for still I will call. you Jack—I made sure ye 


- were the maid for me. Hark!’ he said, breaking off 


—“one cometh.” 
And indeed a heavy tread was now audible in the — 

echoing passage, and the rats again fled in armies. 

_ Dick reconnoitred his position. The sudden turn 

gave him a post of vantage. He could thus shoot i1 


safety from the cover of the wall. But it was plain © 


the light was too near him, and running some way 


forward, he sat down the lamp in the middle of the . 


passage, and then returned to watch. Haas 
Presently, at the far end of the passage, Bennet 
hove in sight. He seemed to be alone, and he carried 


in his hand a burning torch, which made him the 
_ better mark. 


“Stand, Bennet!” cried Dick. “Another step and 


_y’ are dead.” 


“So here ye are,” returned Hatch, peering forward 
into the darkness. “I see you not. Aha! y’ ’ave done 
wisely, Dick; y’ ’ave put your lamp before you. By 
my sooth, but, though it was done to shoot my own 
knave body, I do rejoice to see ye profit by my les- 


- sons! And now, what make ye? what seek ye here? 
- Why would ye shoot upon an old, kind friend? And 
have ye the young gentlewoman there?” 


“Nay, Bennet, it is I should question and you an-. 


 swer,” replied Dick. “Why am I in this jeopardy of 


my life? Why do men come privily to slay mein my. 


- bed? Why am I now fleeing in mine own guardian’s © 


strong house, and from the friends that I have lived 
among and never injured?” 


“Master Dick, Master Dick,” said Bennet, “what ihe 


told I you? Y’ are brave, but the most uncrafty lad 
that I can think upon! ia 3 


: m I am doomed indeed. It is well. Here, where I am, — 


it was to that end he sent me. But you, if ye are 


Lite A at Nictaebe ray 


| 108 : oh NC SLACK ARROW 


“well, ” vaturned Dick, “I see ye know all, and that ' 


I stay. Let Sir Daniel get me out if he be able!” 
Hatch was silent for a space. 

“Hark ye,” he began, “I return to Sir Daniel, to 
tell him where ye are, and how posted; for, in truth, 


no fool, had best be gone ere I return.” 
“Be gone!”’ repeated Dick. “I would be gone already 
anlIwist how. I cannot move the trap.” . 
“Put me your hand into the corner, and see what — 
ye find there,’ replied Bennet. “Throgmorton’s rope — 
is still in the brown chamber. Fare ye well.” 
_ And Hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared again 
into the windings of the passage. 

Dick instantly returned for his lamp, and proceeded 
to act upon the hint. At one corner of the trap there ~~ 
was a deep cavity in the wall. Pushing his arm into © 
the aperture, Dick found an iron bar, which he thrust 
vigorously upwards. There followed a snapping noise, — 
and the slab of stone instantly started in its bed. a 

They were free of the passage. A little exercise 
of strength easily raised the trap; and they came forth 
into a vaulted chamber, opening on one hand upon the 
court, where one or two fellows, with bare arms, were 
rubbing down the horses of the last arrivals. A torch 
or two, each stuck in an iron ring against the wall, 
changefully lit up the scene, 


CHAPTER V 
HOW DICK CHANGED SIDES 


ICK, blowing out his lamp lest it should attract 
attention, led the way upstairs and along the 
corridor. In the brown chamber the rope had 

been made fast to the frame of an exceedingly heavy 
and ancient bed. It had not been detached, and Dick, 
taking the coil to the window, began to lower it slowly 
and cautiously into the darkness of the night. Joan 
stood by; but as the rope lengthened and still Dick con- 
tinued to pay out, extreme fear began to conquer her — 
resolution. 

“Dick,” she said, “is it so deep? I may not essay it. 
I should infallibly fall, good Dick.” 

It was just at the delicate moment of the operations 
that she spoke. Dick started; the remainder of the 
coil slipped from his grasp, and the end fell with a 
‘splash into the moat. Instantly, from the battlement 
above, the voice of a sentinel cried, “Who goes?” 

“A murrain!” cried Dick. “Weare paid now? Down 
with you—take the rope.”’ , 

“T cannot,” she cried, recoiling. 

“An ye cannot, no more can I,” said Shelton. “How 


can I swim the moat without you? Do ye desert me, — 


then?” 

“Dick,” she gasped, “I cannot. The strength is gone 
from me.”’ 

“By the mass, then, we are all shent!” he shouted, 
stamping his foot; and then, hearing steps, he ran to 
the room door and sought to close it. 

Before he could shoot the bolt, strong arms were 
thrusting it back upon him from the other side. He 
struggled for a second; then, feeling himself over- 
powered, ran back to the window. The girl had fallen 


109 


Sto! "THE BLACK ARROW 


Rat ay 


aint the wall in the embrasure of the windows she 


was more than half insensible; and when he tried to 


raise her in his arms, her body was limp and unre- 
sponsive. 

+ At the same moment the men who had forced the 
door against him laid hold upon him. The first he 


- poniarded at a blow, and the others falling back for 


a second in some disorder, he profited by the chance, 
- bestrode the window-sill, seized the cord in both hands, 
and let his body slip. 

The cord was knotted, which made’ it the easier to 


descend; but so furious was Dick’s hurry, and so small 
is experience of such gymnastics, that he span round 
and round in mid-air like a criminal upon a gibbet, and 
_ now beat his head, and now bruised his hands, against 
- the rugged stone work of the wall. The air roared in 
his ears; he saw the stars overhead and the reflected 


stars below him in the moat, whirling like dead leaves 
before the tempest. And then he lost his hold and fell, 
and soused head over ears into the icy water. 

When he came to the surface his hand encountered 


the rope, which, newly lightened of his weight, was 


- swinging wildly to and fro. There was a red glow 
- overhead, and looking up, he saw, by the light of sev- 
- eral torches and a cresset full of burning coals, the 

battlements lined with faces. He saw the men’s eyes 


turning hither and thither in quest of him; but he was 


_ too far below, the light reached him not, and they 
- Jooked in vain. 

And now he perceived that the rope was considerably 
too long, and he began to struggle as well as he could 
towards the other side of the moat, still keeping his 


head above water. In this way he got much more than 


halfway over; indeed, the bank was almost within 


: i reach before the rope began to draw him back by its 


own weight. Taking his courage in both hands, he 
let go and made a leap for the trailing sprays of wil- 
- low that had already, that same evening, helped Sir 
_ Daniel’s messenger to land. He went down, rose again, 
_ sank a second time, and then his hand caught a branch, 
_. and with the speed of thought he had dragged himself 


Leys 


THE BLACK ARROW —~_sd11.- 


into the thick of the tree and clung there, dripping and 
panting, and still half uncertain of his escape. 

But all this had not been done without a considerable 
splashing, which had so far indicated his position to 
the men along the battlements. Arrows and quarrels 
fell thick around him in the darkness, thick like driving — 
hail; and suddenly a torch was thrown down—flared 
through the air in its swift passage—stuck for a mo- 
ment on the edge of the bank, where it burned high and 
lit up its whole surroundings like a bonfire—and then, 
in a good hour for Dick, slipped off, plumped into the 
moat, and was instantly extinguished. 

It had served its purpose. The marksman had had 
time to see the willow, and Dick ensconced among its 
boughs; and though the lad instantly sprang higher 
up the bank and ran for his life, he was not yet quick 
enough to escape a shot. An arrow struck him in the 
shoulder, another grazed his head. 

The pain of his wounds lent him wings; and he had — 
no sooner got upon the level than he took to his heels — 
and ran straight before him in the dark, without a_ 
thought for the direction of his flight. 

For a few steps missiles followed him, but these 
soon ceased; and when at length he came to a halt and 
looked behind, he was already a good way from the 
Moat House, though h> could still see the torches mov- 
ing to and f:’o along its battlements. 

He leanea against a tree, streaming with blood and 
water, bruised, wounded and alone. For all that, he 
had saved his life for that bout; and though Joanna 
remained behind in the power of Sir Daniel, he neither 


blamed himself for an accident that it had been be- — 


yond his power to prevent, nor did he augur any fatal 
consequences to the girl herself. Sir Daniel was cruel, 


but he was not likely to be cruel to a young gentle- — 


woman who had other protectors, willing and able to 
bring him to account. It was more probable he would 
make haste to marry her to some friend of his own. © 

“Well,” thought Dick, “between then and now, I 
will find the means to bring that traitor under; for I 
think, by the mass, that I be now absolved from any . 


: 


ee ew 
<a 
res ga 


2 ‘THE BLACK ARROW 


gratitude or ; obligation; and when war is open, there 
‘ig a fair chance for all.” 


aS ditt ues ua ae bart Hs 


ei 
Ne f; 4 th 
ea ee ; HUA 
\ a 


In the meanwhile, here he was in a sore plight. 


_. For some little way further he struggled forward 
through the forest; but what with the pain of his 
wounds, the darkness of the night, and the extreme 
uneasiness and confusion of his mind, he soon became 
equally unable to guide himself or to continue to push 
through the close undergrowth, and he was fain at 
_ length to sit down and lean his back against a tree. 

_ When he awoke from something betwixt sleep and © 
_ Swooning, the grey of the morning had begun to take 
_ the place of night. A little chilly breeze was bustling 
among the trees, and as he sat still staring before him, 


only half awake, he became aware of something dark 


_ that swung to and fro among the branches, some hun- 
_ dred yards in front of him. The progressive bright- 


ening of the day and the return of his own senses at 


- last enabled him to recognize the object. It was a 
man hanging from the bough of a tall oak. His head - 
had fallen forward on his breast; but at every stronger 


puff of wind his body spun round and round, and his 


- legs and arms tossed like some ridiculous plaything. 


Dick clambered to his feet, and, staggering and lean- 


_ ing on the tree-trunks as he went, drew near to this » 
grim object. 


The bough was perhaps twenty feet above the 


ground, and the poor fellow had been drawr up so 
high by his executioners that his boots swung clear 
_ above Dick’s reach; and as his hood had been drawn 
ever his face, it was impossible to recognize the man. 


Dick looked about him right and left; and at last 
he perceived that the other end of the cord had been 


; made fast to the trunk of a little hawthorn which 
_ grew, thick with blossom, under the lofty arcade of 


the oak. With his dagger, which alone remained to 


_ him of all his arms, young Shelton severed the rope, 
and instantly, with a dead thump, the corpse fell in a 


heap upon the ground. 


_ Dick raised the hood; it was Throgmorton, Sir Dan- 
a Giahe messenger. He had not gone far upon his errand. __ 


: = Si ge Ae 
af ee ee oe eS ee ee 


i + 
hh ET | i) Jory, 
A a eo ey 
' , 


of his doublet, and Dick, pulling it forth, found it was 
Sir Daniel’s letter to Lord Wensleydale. | 
“Come,” thought he, “if the world changes yet 
again, I may have the wherewithal to shame Sir Dan- 
jel—-nay, and perchance to bring him to the block.” 
And he put the paper in his own bosom, said 2 


prayer over the dead man, and set forth again through . 


the woods. 
His fatigue and weakness increased; his ears sang, 


his steps faltered, his mind at intervals failed him, so. 


low had he been brought by loss of blood. Doubtless 


A rough voice bid him stand. 


“Stand?” repeated Dick. “By the mass, but I am — : | 


nearer falling.” 


And he suited the action to the word, and fell all i 


his length upon the road. 

Two men came forth out of the thicket, each in 
green forest jerkin, each with long-bow and quiver 
and short sword. 


“Why, Lawless,” said the younger of the two, “‘it is 


young Sheltcen.” 

“Ay, this will be as good as bread to John Amend- 
All,” returned the other. ‘Though, faith, he hath been 
to the wars. Here is a tear in his scalp that must’a’ 


- ~cost him many a good ounce of blood.” 


“And here,” added Greensheve, “is a hole in his 
shoulder that must have pricked him well. Who hath 


done this, think ye? If it be one of ours, he may all \ a 
to prayer; Ellis will give him a short shrift and a long hy i 


rope.” 


my back.” 


And then, when Dick had been hoisted to his shoul- we 
ders, and he had taken the lad’s arms about his 
neck, and got a firm hold of him, the ex-Grey Friar 


added— 


y ; 
A ) 
Chee 


RE TENN Pee PO eta ee EI Tea 
Bae 4 ee ; ” th ‘a ois has 


THE BLACK ARROW _ LB Hes 


FA paper, which had apparently escaped the notice of 
the men of the Black Arrow, stuck from the bosom 


he made many deviations from his true path, but at ay 
last he came out upon the high-road not very farfrom 
Tunstall hamlet. | | 


“Up with the cub,” said Lawless. “Clap him on a ‘ 


ware eS) ed ik RPP rer te ak Se) ERA OP le NS) Be ry ns oe weblion i 
SLAW RRA. CORE Tih Nao RT ON SMR At RE RN eat eG Gal IS 
it ape aa als rey ; ; von hee DWT AL og SM Eaten yy 
(8 a it They Me chy ‘ RAV StS Rives ba 

fi. i . A Miche ste rh nt eeale 1 

Si a Cathe 4 at et " 


114 ~——sSTHE BLACK ARROW 


“Keep ye the post, brother Greensheve. I will on — 
_ with him by myself.” i 
So Greensheve returned to his ambush on the way- 
side, and Lawless trudged down the hill, whistling as 
he went, with Dick, still in a dead faint, comfortably 
settled on his shoulders. | 
_. The sun rose as he came out of the skirts of the 
wood and saw Tunstall hamlet straggling up the op- 
- posite hill. All seemed quiet, but a strong post of 
- gome half a score of archers lay close by the bridge 
on either side of the road, and, as soon as they per- 
ceived Lawless with his burden, began to bestir them- 
selves and set arrow to string like vigilant sentries. 
“Who goes?” cried the man in command. | 
_ “Will Lawless, by the rood—ye know me as wellas 
- your own hand,” returned the outlaw contemptuously. i 
“Give the word, Lawless,” returned the other. : 
ee “Now, Heaven lighten thee, thou great fool,’ re- — : 
plied Lawless. “Did I not tell it thee myself? Butye ~~ 
are all mad for this playing at soldiers. WhenIamin ~ } 
the greenwood, give me greenwood ways; andmy word 
. for this tide is, ‘A fig for all mock soldiery!’ ” H 
“Lawless, ye but show an ill example; give us the 
_. word, fool jester,” said the commander of the post. 
“And if I had forgotten it?” asked the other. 
“An ye had forgotten it—as I know y’ ’ave not—by 
the mass, I would clap an arrow into your big body,” 
returned the first. 
“Nay, an y’ are so ill a jester,” said Lawless, “ye 
shall have your word for me. ‘Duckworth and Shel- 
_ ton’ is the word; and here, to the illustration, is Shel- 
ton on my shoulders, and to Duckworth do I carry 
him.” 

“Pass, Lawless,” said the sentry. 

“And where is John?” asked the Grey Friar. 

“He holdeth a court, by the mass, and taketh rents 
as to the manner born!” cried another of the company, 
So it proved. When Lawless got’ as far up the 

village as the little inn, he found Ellis Duckworth sur- 
rounded by Sir Daniel’s tenants, and, by the right — 
_ of his good company of archers, coolly taking rents,and 


THE BLACK ARROW i CE 


giving written receipts in return for them. By the 
faces of the tenants, it was plain how little this pro-— 
ceeding pleased them; for they argued very rightly 
that they would simply have to pay them twice. 

As soon as he knew what had brought Lawless, 
Ellis dismissed the remainder of the tenants, and, with 
every mark of interest and apprehension, conducted 
Dick into an inner chamber of the inn. There the 
lad’s hurts were looked to; and he was recalled, by 
simple remedies, to consciousness. 

“Dear lad,” said Ellis, pressing his hand, “‘y’ are in 
a friend’s hands that loved your father, and loves you 
for his sake. Rest ye a little quietly, for ye are some- 
what out of case. Then shall ye tell me your story, 
and betwixt the two of us we shall find a remedy for 


A little later in the day, and after Dick had awak- 
ened from a comfortable slumber to find himself still 
very weak, but clearer in mind and easier in body, 
Ellis returned, and sitting down by the bedside, begged 
him, in the name of his father, to relate the circum- 


’ stances of his escape from Tunstall Moat House. There 


was something in the strength of Duckworth’s frame, 
in the honesty of his brown face, in the clearness and 
shrewdness of his eyes, that moved Dick to obey him; 
and from first to last the lad told him the story of 
his two days’ adventures. 

“Well,” said Ellis, when he had done, “‘see what the 
kind saints have done for you, Dick Shelton, not alone 
to save your body in so numerous and deadly perils, 
but to bring you into my hands that have no dearer — 
wish than to assist your father’s son. Be but true 


to me—and I see y’ are true—and betwixt you and 
me, we shall bring that false-heart traitor to the 


death.” 
“Will ye assault the house?” asked Dick. 


“I were mad, indeed, to think of it,” returned Ellis. — nN 


“He hath too much power; his men gather to him; 


those that gave me the slip last night, and by the mass _ ra 


came in so handily for you—those have made him — 


safe. Nay, Dick, to the contrary, thou and I and our te 


1 ie i 


Re (THE BL 


ARROW - 


AS Ws ha ye 
Cw Bhs A 
v() i vite NN} 
ROL Aveta 


AC 


ily and leave Sir Daniel free.” 
_ “My mind misgiveth me for Jack,” said the lad. 

“Ror Jack!’ repeated Duckworth: “Oh, I see, for 
the wench! Nay, Dick, I promise you if there come 
talk of any marriage we shall act at once; till then, or 
till the time is ripe, we shall all disappear, even like 
' shadows at morning; Sir Daniel shall look east and 
west, and see none enemies; he shall think, by the 
“mass, that he hath dreamed awhile, and hath now 
awakened in his bed. But our four eyes, Dick, shall 
_ follow him right close, and our four hands—so help us 
a a ae army of the saints!—shall bring that traitor 
low!” 
Two days later Sir Daniel’s garrison had grown to 
such a strength that he ventured on a sally, and at 
the head of some two score horsemen pushed without 
- opposition as far as Tunstall hamlet. Not an arrow 
_ flew, not a man stirred in the thicket; the bridge was 
_ no longer guarded, but stood open to all comers; and 
as Sir Daniel crossed it, he saw the villagers locking 
_ timidly from their doors. 

_ Presently one of them, taking heart of grace, came 
forward, and with the lowliest salutations, presented 
_a letter to the knight. 

nes face darkened as he read the contents. It ran 
thus: ae 


i To the most untrue and cruel gentylman, Sir Daniel 
Brackley, Knyght, These: 


_. I fynde ye were untrue and unkynd fro the first. Ye have my 
_ father’s blood upon your hands; let it be, it will not wasshe. 
_ Some day ye shall perish by my procurement, so much I let you 
_ to wytte; and I let you to wytte farther, that if ye seek to wed 
to any other the gentylwoman, Mistress Joan’ Sedley, whom 
_ that I am bound upon a great oath to wed myself, the blow will __ 
_ be very swift. The first step thereinne will be thy first step to 


the grave. | 
Ves RIC. SHELTON. 


brave bowmen, we must all slip from this forest speed- 


i Ch ain 


ee Ta. Sy 


ee SPR ae eS 


Ee a 
YF yp (RTO re, 


‘ O , 
fia 0: 
Be’ aii a" Ee ys 
a) ¢ R ' 
fy - 4 


BOOK III 


MY LORD FOXHAM 
CHAPTER I 
THE HOUSE BY THE SHORE 


ONTHS had passed away since Richard Shelton 
made his escape from the hands of his guard- 
ian. These months had been eventful for Eng- 

Jand. The party of Lancaster, which was then in the 
very article of death, had once more raised its head. 
The Yorkist defeated and dispersed, their. leader butch- 


_ ered on the field, it seemed, for a very brief season in 


Ps 


the winter following upon the events already recorded, 
as if the House of Lancaster had finally triumphed — 
over its foes. ( 
The small town of Shoreby-on-the-Till was full of 
Lancastrian nobles of the neighbourhood. Earl Ris- 
ingham was there, with three hundred men-at-arms; 
Lord Shoreby, with two hundred; Sir Daniel himself, 
high in favour and once more growing rich on con- 
fiscations, lay in a house of his own, on the main street, 
with three score men. The world had changed indeed. 
It was a black, bitter cold evening in the first week 
of January, with a hard frost, a high wind, and every ~ 
likelihood of snow before the morning. 
In an obscure alehouse in a by-street near the har- 
bour three or four men sat drinking ale and eating 
a hasty mess of eggs. They were all likely, lusty, 


_weather-beaten fellows, hard of hand, bold of eye; 


and though they wore plain tabards, like country 
ploughmen, even a drunken soldier might have looked 


_ twice before he sought a quarrel in such company. 


A little apart before the huge fire sat a younger 


- man, almost a boy, dressed in much the same fashion, 


though it was easy to see by his looks that he was 


_ better born, and might have worn a sword, had the 
A time suited. 


Form 08 oe © 
“as 
, 


117 


Pdr? we te die pas is ae ah at arr ah Ary he eas, ab Pie a Ai re Cy Ry PNT Se 


Uo ioe aa aA RA ae Le eli eta Cahn BAD UC RNY ite feta ate CR ha PMG ih Get a ie thie MON Stout a ato DMs soe BN 
ca NY ee, Ne TY Pat ngs Chay Wee ESA) Ment Bis te Vee + MW AU ufo Weasel eh wine iyi Mi NN, Bis hig . 
shal uy Vibe Tes as TAS ae Ay Mal Vas Ns AVENGERS eh ck chose se: toy Ug 
sts Vea , Anh heel mM sy Po AN | ae, 
A j ‘ f Wh) phy ey way 1 At xf « Ceitess unt 


ae 
- aed 


118 ~—-«‘THE BLACK ARROW 


-» “’Tis for Master Shelton there,” said another, nod- 


long cloak blew about him in the wind; and the rear © 


1% Yish yy 
MSs diies Ap Cur H ‘ if, 
ROU KURT ANE NDI CLM ie anh)! 
ay SiS tat Jt mh a a 
Was Rt tea : ‘: 
i SW py te : “ASRS 
Ae t 


“Nay,” said one of the men at the table, « ‘T like it 
not. Ill will come of it. This is no place for jolly — 
fellows. A jolly fellow loveth open country, good 
cover, and scarce foes; but heie we are shut in a town, 
girt about with enemies; and, for the bull’s s-eye of mis- 
fortune, see if it snow not ere the morning.’ 


ding his head towards the lad before the fire. 
“T will do much for Master Shelton,” returned the — 
first; “but to come to the gallows for any man—nay, 
brothers, not that!” 
The door of the inn opened, and another man en- 
tered hastily and approached the youth before the 


e. | 
“Master Shelton,” he said, “Sir Daniel goeth forth 
with a pair of links and four archers.” 
Dick (for this was our young friend) rose instantly 
to his feet. F 
‘Lawless,’ he said, “‘ye will take John Capper’s 
watch, Greensheve, follow with me. Capper, lead for- 
va We will follow him this time, an he go to 
ork.” 
The next moment they were outside in the dark 


street, and Capper, the man who had just come, pointed — 
_ to where two torches flared in the wind at a little © 


distance. : 
The town was already sound asleep; no one moved — 


~ upon the streets, and there was nothing easier than to ~ 


follow the party without observation. The two link- © 
bearers went first; next followed a single man, whose 


was brought up by the four achers, each with his 
bow upon his arm. They moved at a brisk walk, © 
threading the intricate lanes and drawing nearer to ~ 


the shore. i 
“He hath gone each night in this direction?” asked — 
Dick, in a whisper. a 


“This is the third night running, Master Shelton,” — 
returned Capper, “and still at the same hour and with © 
the oe small following, as though his end were > 
secret.” a 


THE BLACK ARROW —=__119 


Sir Daniel and his six men were now come to the 


_ outskirts of the country. Shoreby was an open town, 


and though the Lancastrian lords who lay there kept 
a strong guard on the main roads, it was still possible 
to enter or depart unseen by any of the lesser streets 
or across the open country. 

The lane which Sir Daniel had been following came 
to an abrupt end. Before him there was a stretch of. 


_rough down, and the noise of the sea-surf was audible 
upon one hand. There were no guards in the neigh- 
- bourhood, nor any light in that quarter of the town. 


Dick and his two outlaws drew a little closer to the 
object of their chase, and presently, as they came forth — 


_ from between the houses and could see a little farther 


upon either hand, they were aware of another torch 


_drawing near from another direction 


“Hey,” said Dick, ‘‘I smell treason.’ 
Meanwhile Sir Daniel had come to a full halt. The 


torches were stuck into the sand, and the men lay 
_ down, as if to await the arrival of the other party. 3 
This drew near at a good rate. It consisted of four 
men only—a pair of archers, a varlet with a link, and 
_acloaked gentleman walking in their midst. 


od 


“Ts it-you, my lord?” cried Sir Daniel. 
ribis I, indeed ; and if ever true knight gave proof I 
am that man,’ ’ replied the leader of the second troop; 
“for who would not rather face giants, sorcerers, or 


- pagans, than this pinching cold?” 


“My lord,” returned Sir Daniel, “beauty will be 


more beholden, misdoubt it not. But shall we forth? 


For the sooner ye have seen my merchandise, the 


- sooner we shall both get home.” 


“But why keep ye her here, good knight?” inquired 
the other. “An she be so young, and so fair, and so 


_ wealthy, why do ye not bring her forth among her 
_ mates? Ye would soon make her a good marriage, 
-.and no need to freeze your fingers and risk arrow- 


shots by going abroad at such unseemly seasons in ~ 


_ the dark.” 


“T have told you, my lord,” replied Sir Daniel, “the 


~ reason thereof concerneth me only. Neither do I pur- 


AVODART TASS al MUR SHAS a 
aia ‘i . Peal 


ee) tes BLACK ARROW 


j trey 
MEAT eed,” Ney 


- pose to explain it farther. Suffice it that if ye be : 


weary of your ola gossip, Daniel Brackley, publish it 


abroad that y’ are to wed Joanna Sedley, and I give — 


you my word ye will be quit of him right soon. Ye 


will find him with an arrow in his back.” 


Meanwhile the two gentlemen were walking briskly © 
forward over the down; the three torches going before — 


them, stooping against the wind and scattering clouds 
of smoke and tufts of flame, and the rear brought up 


by the six archers. 
Close upon the heels of these Dick followed. He 


had, of course, heard no word of this conversation; but 


he had recognized in the second of the speakers old 


_Lord Shoreby himself, a man of an infamous reputa- 


tion, whom even Sir Daniel affected, in public, to con- | 


demn. 
Presently they came close down upon the beach. 


The air smelt salt; the noise of the surf increased; 
and here, in a large walled garden there stood a small 


house of two storeys, with stables and other offices. 
The foremost torch-bearer unlocked a door in the 

wall, and after the whole party had passed into the 

garden, again closed and locked it on the other side. 
Dick and his men were thus excluded from any 


‘ farther following, unless they should scale the wall 
and thus put their necks in a trap. 


They sat down in a tuft of furze and waited. The 


red glow of the torches moved up and down and to and 


Patt 


' _ fro within the enclosure, as if the link-bearers steadily 
_ patrolled the garden. 


Twenty minutes passed, and then the whole party 


_ 4ssued forth again upon the down; and Sir Daniel and 
the baron, after an elaborate salutation, separated 


and turned severally homeward, each with his own fol- 
lowing of men and lights. 

As soon as the sound of their steps had been swal- 
jowed by the wind, Dick got to his feet as briskly as 
he was able, for he was stiff and aching with the cold. 

“Capper, ye will give me a back up,” he said. 


They advanced, all three, to the wall; Capper — 
! stooped, and Dick, getting upon his shoulders, clam- 


Raney brad tg Be ag Atel) Nel Os SIE it Teg oe NL Ie 
Jesh Ay ail Me eed eal Eile Mpa ean Aca 


NHC REACH ARROW 121 


. heed on to the cope-stone. 
“Now, Greensheve,” whispered Dick, “follow me up 


here; lie flat upon your face, that ye may be the less ~ 


seen; and be ever ready to give me a hand if I fall 
foully on the other side.” 

And so saying he dropped into the garden. 

It was all pitch dark; there was no light in the 
house. The wind whistled shrill among the poor 
shrubs, and the surf beat upon the beach; there was 
no other sound. Cautiously Dick footed it forth, stum- 
bling among bushes, and groping with his hands; and 
presently the crisp noise of gravel under foot told him 
that he had struck upon an alley. 


Here he paused, and taking his crossbow from iN 


where he kept it concealed under his long tabard he 
prepared it for instant action, and went forward once 


more with greater resolution and assurance. The path — 


led him straight to the group of buildings. 


_ All seemed to be sorely dilapidated: the windows of _ 
the house were secured by crazy shutters, the stables _ 


were open and empty; there was no hay in the hay-. 


loft, no corn in the corn-box. Anyone would have © | 


supposed the place to be deserted; but Dick had good 
reason to think otherwise. He continued his inspec- 
tion, visiting the offices, trying all the windows. At 
length he came round to the seaside of the house, and 


there, sure enough, there burned a pale light in one 


of the upper windows. 

He stepped back a little way, till he thought he 
could see the movement of a shadow on the wall of 
the apartment. Then he remembered that in the stable 


his groping hand had rested for a moment on a ladder, — 


and he returned with all despatch to bring it. The — 

ladder was very short, but yet, by standing on the ~ 
topmost round, he could bring his hands as high as 
the iron bars of the windows; and seizing these, he 


raised his body by main force until his eyes commanded es 


the interior of the room. 


Two persons were within: the first he readily knew ee 


to be Dame Hatch; the second, a tall and beautiful and 


grave young lady, in a long, embroidered dress—could — | 


VF ERT Ny tak SPE ELA Ua tas RR ae UM itt Pas ut SEMA} 

Pe aR eer OR Rates ee Move OR vicis Wea 

eas TNL TENRIEY ag Wa f: Ea Ne a 
f x i Se h ¥ / b 


ye me ale Nas 


that be To oanna Sedley? his old wood-companion, Jack, 
whom he had thought to punish with a belt? 
. He dropped back again to the top round of the ladder 
in a kind of amazement. He had never thought of his 
sweetheart as of so superior a being, and he was in- 
'_ gstantly taken with a feeling of diffidence. But he had 
little opportunity for thought. A low “Hist!” sounded 
_ from close by, and he hastened to descend the ladder. 
“Who goes?” he whispered. 
_. “Greensheve,’’ came the reply, in tones similarly 
-. guarded. : 
“What want ye? 2?” asked Dick. 
o “The house is watched, Master Shelton,” returned 
the outlaw. “We are not alone to watch it; for even 
- as I lay on my belly on the wall I saw men prowling 
Cael hs dark, and heard them whistle softly one to the 
~~ other.” 
'. “By my sooth,” said Dick, “but this is passing 
strange! Were they not men of Sir Daniel’s?” 
a “Nay, sir, that they were not,” returned Greensheve, 
“for if I have eyes in my head, every man-Jack of 
_ them weareth me a white badge in his bonnet, some- 
thing chequered with dark.” 
“White, chequered with dark?” repeated Dick. 
“Faith, ’tis a badge I know not. It is none of this 
country’s badges. Well, and that be so, let us slip 
as quietly forth from this garden as we may; for here 
we are in an evil posture for defence. Beyond all 
question there are men of Sir Daniel’s in that house, 
_ and to be taken between two shots is a beggarman’s 
position. Take me this ladder; I must leave it’ where 
eo found it,’ 
They returned the ladder to the stable, and groped 
their way to the place where they had entered. 
Capper had taken Greensheve’s position on the cope, 
and now he leaned down his hand, and, first one and 
then the other, pulled them up. 


Cautiously and silently they dropped again upon the 


: ie other side; nor did they dare to speak until they had 
| returned to their old ambush in the gorse. 3 
“Now, John Capper,” said Dick, “back with you to 


\ 


Peay tly M ety We * Pra PLY Ar ‘AT 
fit fa fe adn ee Z an tp WY y va ; ie, py S| 
tS a ar t ‘ 4 eR) A . j 
f oP OP (5), 

‘ 4 oH a rh : + 


"THE BLACK ARROW 128 


a 
ie 


hand before they muster, let the place be something 
farther back, and by the entering in of the town. 
_ Greensheve and I lie here to watch. Speed ye, John 
: - Gapper, and the saints aid you to despatch! And now, 

_ Greensheve,” he continued, as soon as Capper had de- 
parted, “et, thou and I go ‘around about the garden in 
a wide circuit. I would fain see whether thine eyes 
betrayed thee.” 


Keeping well outwards from the wall, and profiting. 


_ by every height and hollow, they passed about two 


sides, beholding nothing. On the third side the garden > 


q wall was built close upon the beach, and to preserve 
the distance necessary to their purpose, they had to 


MARE, PMT Eovtie 


Pe iShoreby, even as for your life. Bring me instantly 
- what men ye can collect. Here shall be the rendez-. 
s vous; or if the men be scattered and the day be near at 


_ go some way down upon the sands. Although the tide 


% was still pretty far out, the surf was so high, and the 


- sands so flat, that at each breaker a great sheet of — 


froth and water came careering over the expanse, and 
- Dick and Greensheve made this part of their inspec- 


_ tion wading, now to the ankles, and now as deep as to 


_ the knees, in the salt and icy waters of the German | 


- Ocean. 
. Suddenly, against the comparative whiteness of the 
- garden wall, the figure of a man was seen, like a faint 
_ Chinese shadow, violently signalling with both arms. 


_ As he dropped again to the earth, another arose a little 


_ farther on and repeated the same performance. And 
_ so, like a silent watchword, these gesticulations made 
- the round of the beleaguered garden. 
“They keep good watch,” Dick whispered. 
: “Let us back to land, good master,” answered Green- 
ch sheve. “We stand here too open; for look ye, when 
- the seas break heavy and white out there behind us, 
_ they shall see us plainly against the foam.” 
a “Ye speak sooth,” returned Dick, “Ashore with us, 
- right speedily.” 


ta 


SONS Et Be Phe Be PAA OP AGES Va AD Me bed fais Sai Ba Ri ARNE DN BEY a a FN 
\ Fad PLES UN AT RE ie (i hod PRA IEEE Do BE tgs fet 
‘ CACEN dae ari a lie is i YAN Vet Bae Aer AN Las 

Veh le US AP AN Os VA in 


Wal aN \ 


CHAPTER II | 
A SKIRMISH IN THE DARK ; 


HOROUGHLY drenched and chilled, the two 
adventurers returned to their position in the 
gorse. 

“IT pray Heaven that Capper make good speed!’ 
said Dick. “I vow a candle to St. Mary of Shoreby if 
he come before the hour!’’ 

. “Y’ are in a hurry, Master Dick?” asked Green- 

-. sheve. 

“Ay, good fellow,” answered Dick; “for in that 

house lieth my lady, whom I love, and who should 

x these be that lie about her secretly by night? Un- 

i friends for sure!”’ 

“Well,” returned Greensheve, “an John come 
speedily, we shall give a good account of them. They 
are not two score at the outside—I judge so by the 
spacing of their sentries—and, taken where they are, 
lying so widely, one score would scatter them like 
sparrows. And yet, Master Dick, an she be in Sir 
_ Daniel’s power already, it will little hurt that she © 
_ should change into another’s. Who should these be?” — 
 “T do suspect the Lord of Shoreby,’” Dick replied. | 
“When came they?” i. 
“They began to come, Master Dick,” said Green- 
 sheve, “about the time ye crossed the wall. I had not © 

lain there the space of a minute ere I marked the first ~ 
| of the knaves crawling round the corner.’ Ei: 

The last light had been already extinguished in the ' 
_ jittle house when they were wading in the wash of — 

the breakers, and it was impossible to predict at what — 
moment the lurking men about the garden wall might : 
| make their onslaught. Of two evils, Dick preferred — 

_ the least. He preferred that Joanna should remain 
under the guardianship of Sir Daniel rather than pass © 


124 


PN es re a” ee ee ae corns 


4 


i a heli ras! ill bili kA als ve tUNieahnes Th) AAR Ma SRN a 

7 4 va fi ng A Liat 4 Mi oie , ¢ ; c, \ 7 
“ff tj PA Ui my rae pea fr eS Cee ye aD Oe ee. | : j 

Wee bearer ae aA ed SECO REED OR Eee 


THE BLACK ARROW —__=125 


into the clutches of Lord Shoreby; and his mind was 
made up, if the house should be assaulted, to come at 
‘ once to the relief of the besieged. 

But the time passed, and still there was no move- 
ment. From quarter of an hour to quarter of an hour 
the same signal passed about the garden wall, as if 
the leader desired to assure himself of the vigilance 
of his scattered followers; but in every other particular 
the neighbourhood of the little house lay undisturbed. 


eee aes Pa aula ioe Ae 
ty * Wy at a 
y 7 bbe : i \ 


Nth ane ro 
tre BLACK ARROW 


ie 


4 Presently Dick’s reinforcements began to arrive. — 
- The night was not yet old before nearly a score of 
men crouched beside him in the gorse. : 
Separating these into two bodies, he took the com- 
mand of the smaller himself, and entrusted the larger 
to the leadership of Greensheve. : 
aHAN “Now, Kit,” said he to this last, ‘take me your men : 

to the near angle of the garden wall upon the beach. | 
- Post them strongly, and wait till that ye hear me fall- | 
- ing on upon the other side. It is those upon the sea- | 
- front that I would fain make certain of, for there will 
- be the leader. The rest will run; even let them. And | 
now, lads, let no man draw an arrow; ye will but hurt i 

_ friends. Take to the steel, and keep to the steel; and 
- if we have the uppermost, I promise every man of 
you a gold noble when I come to mine estate.”’ 

Out of the odd collection of broken men, thieves, 
murderers, and ruined peasantry whom Duckworth 
had gathered together to serve the purposes of his re- 
- venge, some of the boldest and most experienced in 
war had volunteered to follow Richard Shelton. The 

service of watching Sir Daniel’s movements in the 
town of Shoreby had from the first been irksome to 4 
_ their temper, and they had of late begun to grumble 
- Joudly and threaten to disperse. The prospect of a 
sharp encounter and possible spoils restored them to 
_ good humour, and they joyfully prepared for battle. 
_. Their long tabards thrown aside, they appeared, 
some in plain green jerkins, and some in stout 
_ leathern jacks; under their hoods many wore bonnets 
_ strengthened by iron plates; and for offensive armour, 
swords, daggers, a few stout boar-spears, and a dozen 
of bright bills, put them in a posture to engage even 

regular feudal troops. The bows, quivers, and tabards 
were concealed among the gorse, and the two bands set 
Bi resolutely forward. 
Dick, when he had reached the other side of the 
house, posted his six men in a line, about twenty yards 
from the garden wall, and took position himself a few 
; Mu paces in front. Then they all shouted with one voice, 
_ and closed upon the enemy. 


SSS ee eee ee 


4 

It 

9 

4 

i 

1 

P 

> 

me 
i 


, ne AMG Nig th ort 4 \ Pre 
Pee MONO ER ISAT ELLY 
THE BLACK ARROW pate bay 


- hese, lying widely scattered, stiff with cold, and 
taken at unawares, sprang stupidly to their feet, and 
stood undecided. Before they had time to get their 
- courage about them, or even to form an idea of the 
number and mettle of their assailants, a similar shout 
- of onslaught sounded in their ears from the far side 
_ of the enclosure. Thereupon they gave themselves 
up for lost and ran. 
In this way the two small troops of the men of the 
_ Black Arrow closed upon the sea-front of the garden 
‘ wall, and took a part of the strangers, as it were, be- 
_ tween two fires; while the whole of the remainder ran ~ 
_ for their lives in different directions, and were soon 
scattered in the darkness. 
_ For all that the fight was but beginning. Dick’s 
_ outlaws, although they had the advantage of the sur- 
_ prise, were still considerably outnumbered by the men 
_ they had surrounded. The tide had flowed in the 
- meanwhile; the beach was narrowed to a strip; and 
on this wet field, between the surf and the garden 
- wall, there began, in the darkness, a doubtful, furious, 
- and deadly contest. 
_. The strangers were well armed; they fell in silence 
_ upon their assailants; and the affray became a series 
_ of single combats. Dick, who had come first into the ~ 
_mellay, was engaged by three; the first he cut down 
_ at the first blow, but the other two coming upon him 
- hotly he was fain to give ground before their onset. 
One of these two was a huge fellow, almost a giant for 
stature, and armed with a two-handed sword, which 
_ he brandished like a switch. Against this opponent, . 
-_ with his reach of arm and the length and weight of 
__ his weapon, Dick and his bill were quite defenceless; 
- and had the other continued to join vigorously in the 
attack, the lad must have indubitably fallen. This 


second man, however, paused for a moment to peer _ 


- about him in the darkness, and to give ear to the 
_ sounds of the batile. 
The giant still pursued his advantage, and still Dick 
fled before him, spying for his chance. Then the huge 
blade flashed and descended, and the lad, leaping on — 


as : 


Tae Be Ae es Ra usa Sas 
K ‘ ras it N ry, Vay) ROR 
Baa eh oF “THE BLACK ARROW 


one side and running in, slashed sideways and upwaras _ 
_ with his bill. A roar of agony responded, and before — 
_ the wounded man could raise his formidable weapon, 
Dick, twice repeating his blow, had brought him to the 
ground. 
aK The next moment he was engaged upon more equal 
-. terms with his second pursuer. Here there was no 
- great difference in size, and though the man, fighting 
with sword and dagger against a bill, and being wary 
and quick of fence, had a certain superiority of arms, 
Dick more than made it up by his greater agility on 
foot. Neither at first gained any obvious advantage; 
but the older man was still insensibly profiting by 
the ardour of the younger to lead him where he would; 
and presently Dick found that they had crossed the 
___ whole width of the beach, arid were now fighting above 
the knees in the spume and bubble of the breakers. 
Here his own superior activity was rendered useless; 
he found himself more or less at the discretion of his 
foe; yet a little, and he had his back turned upon his 
- own men, and saw that this adroit and skilful adver- 
- gary was bent upon drawing him farther and farther 
away. 
Dick ground his teeth. He determined to decide the — 
combat instantly ; and when the wash of the next wave © 
had ebbed and left them dry, he rushed in, caught a ~ 
-. blow upon his bill, and leaped right at the throat of 
his opponent. The man went down backwards, with | 
Dick still upon the top of him; and the next wave, — 
speedily succeeding the last, buried him below a rush 
of water. ; 
_ While he was still submerged, Dick forced his dagger 
from his grasp, and rose to his feet victorious. 
“Yield ye!” he said. “I give you life.” 
is ‘I yield me,” said the other, getting to his knees. 
“Ve fight, like a young man, ignorantly and foolhard- 
- ily; but, by the array of the saints, ye fight bravely!” 
Ht Dick turned to the beach. The combat was still aq 
raging doubtfully in the night; over the hoarse roar 
_ of the breakers steel clanged upon steel, and cries of i 
ua pain and the shout of battle resounded. 


Nias hia bis, aise Sar ye a Ry JA A iid ak A aR ea 
; A SS Ne M eS Be sae Y ‘ x om aes * +y me ve 
{ mi ‘ ye: i ; 


j ae ie") ‘ { wR 
4 7 


“THE BLACK ARROW — | 129 


2 Ret ood me to your captain, youth,” ‘tata the con- 
-quered knight. “It is fit this butchery should cease.” 
: “Sir,” replied Dick, “so far as these brave fellows 
have a captain, the poor gentleman who addresses you 
is he.” 
> “Call off your dogs, then, and I will bid my villains 
hold,” returned the other. . 
There was something noble both in the voice and 
manner of his late opponent, and Dick instantly dis- 
missed all fears of treachery. 
_ “Lay down your arms, men!” cried the stranger 
‘knight. “I have yielded me, upon promise of life.” 
_ The tone of the stranger was one of absolute com- 
mand, and almost instantly the din and confusion of 
be mellay ceased. 
“Lawless,” cried Dick, “are ye safe?” 
“Ay,” cried Lawless, “safe and hearty.” 
- “Light me the lantern,” said Dick. 
“Ys not Sir Daniel here?” inquired the knight. 
_ “Sir Daniel?” echoed Dick. “Now, by the rood, I 
pray not. It would go ill with me if he were.’ 
: “Tll with you, fair sir?” inquired the other. ‘Nay, 
then, if ye be not of Sir Daniel’s party, I profess I 
‘comprehend no longer. Wherefore, then, fell ye upon 
‘mine ambush? in what quarrel, my young and very 
fiery friend? to what earthly purpose? and, to make 
a clear end of questioning, to what good gentleman 
have I surrendered?” 
But before Dick could answer, a voice spoke in the 
darkness from close by. Dick could see the speaker’s 
black and white badge, and the respectful salute which 
he addressed to his superior. 
i “My lord,” said he, “if these gentlemen be unfriends 
to Sir Daniel, itis a pity, indeed, we should have been 
at blows with them; but it were tenfold greater that 
either they or we should linger here. The watchers in 
‘the house—unless they be all dead or deaf—have heard 
our hammering this quarter-hour agone; instantly 
they will have signalled to the town; and unless we be 
the livelier in our departure, we are like to be taken, 
My ‘ta of us, by a fresh foe.” 


430 2—S~*«CTD'E: BLACK ‘ARROW 


r AeA, fa) Cae o 

GR LRNBN altel he 

aad al mol I Wie. § 

int ios se} \ WeyGn 
i 


please ye, sir? Whither shall we march?’ 


me. I do begin ‘to suspect we have some ground of © 
friendship, and if, indeed, I began our acquaintance — 


hand in mine; and at the hour and place that ye © 


time your trust is not misplaced. I will meet you at — 
rapidity that seemed suspicious; and, while the out- 


upper loophole of the roof he beheld a light set; and 
as if he heard a jarring and hollow noise from the 


the nearest lanes of Shoreby some two score horse- — 


hours of sleep before the morning tryst. 


it te? Pat lh. 4 Ae ite k Gt at SOP Por BMS Pet 8) end As Lt AM VAR Ws ey _ AP's. Wes et ie 
Vist Case SHEAR cMMGR ORAS a etic Maverdl aia Sabah ea esa dai ay CFP deen 2. ge dS 
PERC OPA aay MR RTI ROSIN Ras TENA i AGE ere 


\ f PI nt " ‘vie Aa Pe Sek Sees | 
ray ( , Cent \ 
Sa bate ak is ? | 


“Hawksley is in the right, ”” added the lord. 


“Nay, my lord,” said Dick, “go where you will for ‘ 


somewhat ruggedly, 1 would not churlishly continue. | 
Let us, then, separate, my lord, you laying your right © 


shall name, let us encounter and agree.” f 
*“Y’ are too trustful, boy,” said the other; “but this ~ 


the point of day at St. Bride’s Cross. Come, lads, — 
follow!” 
The strangers disappeared from the scene with a — 


laws fell to the congenial task of rifling the dead bod- © 
ies, Dick made once more the circuit of the garden — 
wall to examine the front’ of the house. In a little 


as it would certainly be visible in town from the back ~ 
windows of Sir Daniel’s mansion, he doubted not that — 
this was the signal feared by Hawksley, and that ere 
long the lances of the Knight of Tunstall would arrive 
upon the scene. 

He put his ear to the ground, and it seemed to hin 


Ni 


ward. Back to the beach he went hurrying. But the 

work was already done; the last body was disarmed 

and stripped to the skin, and four fellows were already 
q 


“wading seaward to commit it to the mercies of the 


deep. | 
A few minutes later, when there debouched out of © 


men, hastily arrayed and moving at the gallop of their | 
steeds, the neighbourhood of the house beside the sea » 
was entirely silent and deserted. ‘ 

‘Meanwhile, Dick and his men had returned to the 
alehouse of the Goat and Bagpipes to snatch some | 


CHAPTER III 
ST. BRIDE’S CROSS 


T. BRIDE’S CROSS stood a little way from Shore- 
by, on the skirts of Tunstall Forest. Two roads 
met: one, from Holywood across the forest; one, 

that road from Risingham down which we saw the 

wrecks of a Lancastrian army fleeing in disorder. Here © 
the two joined issue, and went on together down the 
hill to Shoreby; and a little back from the point of 
junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned by 
the ancient and weatherbeaten cross. 

Here, then, about seven in the morning, Dick ar- 

_ rived. It was as cold as ever; the earth was all grey 

pend silver with the hoar-frost, and the day began to 
break in the east with many colours of purple and 
- orange. 

* Dick set him down upon the lowest step of the 
‘eross, wrapped himself well in his tabard, and looked 

vigilantly upon all sides. He had not long to wait. 

Down the road from Holywood a gentleman in very 

rich and bright armour, and wearing over that a sur- 
coat of the rarest furs, came pacing on a splendid 
_ charger. Twenty yards behind him followed a clump 

f of lancers; but these halted as soon as they came in 
_ view of the trysting-place, while the gentleman in the 
‘ fur surcoat continued to advance alone. 

“a His visor was raised, and showed a countenance of 

_ great command and dignity, answerable to the rich- 
ness of his attire and arms. And it was with some 
confusion of manner that Dick arose from the cross 

_ and stepped down the bank to meet his prisoner. 

“TI thank you, my lord, for your exactitude,” he said, 

: - jouting very low. “Will it please your lordship to 


_ set foot to earth?” 


>: 4 


re | 131 > 


‘i 


x, 
Ney 


rs tie bon THE BLACK ARROW 


va y YA) ite \ Nay Latin aba aN iN ees ey ne ne oo bis a jt) i ti 
ay Rate ey ne se ihe ied eae 4! 
y : - SOS UE, vw cw ¥ A Net 
: : y 


plain with your lordship, the woods upon either hand — : 
_ of this cross lie full of mine honest fellows lying on — 
_ their weapons.” 4 


- little blind-man’s mellay on the beach.” 
_I shoot at no advantage to myself. But when, by the © 


gone otherwise, with a soldier so untried and rustic | 


your goodwill and charity, yield me the hand of my © 


| ‘T die.” 


“I was not so simple,” answered et “and, to ar 


_ “Y? "ave done wisely,” said the lord. “It pleaseth — 
me the rather, since last night ye fought foolhardily, © 
and more like a savage Saracen lunatic than any © 
Christian warrior. But it becomes not me to sosetiens 4 
that had the undermost.” f 
“Ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since ye © 
so fell,” returned Dick; “but had the waves not holpen — 
me, it was I that should have had the worst. Ye were — 
pleased to. make me yours with several dagger marks, © 
which I still carry. And in fine, my lord, methinks I © 
had all the danger, as well as all the profit, of that — 


“Y’ are shrewd enough to make light of it, I see,” 
returned the stranger. . 
“Nay, my lord, not shrewd,” replied Dick, “in that — 


light of this new day, I see how stout a knight hath — 
yielded, not to my arms alone, but to fortune, and the © 
darkness, and the surf—and how easily the battle had — 


as myself—think it not strange, my lord, if I feel — 
confounded with my victory.” a 

“Ye speak well,” said the stranger. “Your name?” — 
_ “My name, an’t like you, is Shelton,” answered Dick. © 

“Men call me the Lord Foxham,” added the other. — 

“Then, my lord, and under your good favour, ye © 
are guardian to the sweetest maid in England,” re- © 
plied Dick; ‘“‘and for your ransom, and the ransom of | 
such as were taken with you on the beach, there will © 
be no uncertainty of terms. I pray you, my lord, of © 


mistress, Joan Sedley; and take ye, upon the other q 
part, your liberty, the liberty of these your followers, | 
and (if ye will have it) my gratitude and service till j 


“But are ye not ward to Sir Daniel? Methought, q 


t 


Tt “Master Shelton, ye are a most fortunate-unfortunate 
a young gentleman.” 


yi if y’ are Harry Shelton’s son, that I had heard it so 
* reported,” said Lord Foxham. 


4 


“Will it please you, my lord, to alight? I would 
fain tell you fully who I am, how situate, and why so 
bold in my demands. Beseech you, my lord, take 

is Biblace upon these steps, hear me to a full end, and 
_ judge me with allowance.” 
_- And so saying, Dick lent a hand to Lord Foxham to 
pe dismount; led him up the knoll to the cross; installed 
ee in the place where he had himself been sitting ; 


ye EW rly Wheel ke NA PUT RR ED ae Sek my et ache TET NaS TS Orie ome OR SE Sewn wn ¥ a) 
5 ~ ra: a \ ype ete ; WA N ive fy es 
7 rs YA Mere oa) it ry) FS od } \ oe WEA ey 0 at Uae 


184 THE BLACK ARROW. 


and standing respectfully before his noble prisoner, 
related the story of his fortunes up to the events of 
the evening before. 

Lord Foxham listened gravely, and, when Dick had 
done, “Master Shelton,” he said, ‘‘ye are a most for- 
tunate-unfortunate young gentleman; but what for- 
tune y’ ’ave had, that ye have amply merited; and 
what unfortune, ye have noways deserved. Be of good 


cheer; for ye have made a friend, who is devoid neither 


of power nor favour. For yourself, although it fits 
not for a person of your birth to herd with outlaws, 
I must own ye are both brave and honourable; very 
dangerous in battle, right courteous in peace; a youth 
of excellent disposition and brave bearing. For your 
estates, ye will never see them till the world shail 
change again; so long as Lancaster hath the strong 
hand, so long shall Sir Daniel enjoy them for his own. 
For my ward, it is another matter; I had promised her 
before to a gentleman, a kinsman of my house, one 
Hamley; the promise is old——— 
“Ay, my lord, and now Sir Daniel hath promised 
her to my Lord Shoreby,” interrupted Dick. ‘‘And his 
promise, for all it is but young, is still the likelier to 
be made good.” 
 £°Tis the plain truth,” returned his lordship. “And 
considering, moreover, that I am your prisoner, upon 
no better composition than my bare life, and over and 
above that, that the maiden is unhappily in other 


hands, I will so far consent. Aid me with your good 


33 


fellows 
“My lord,” cried Dick, “they are these same out- 

laws that ye blame me for consorting with.” 

“Let them be what they will, they can fight,” 


turned Lord Foxham.: “Help me, then; and if between 


uS we regain the maid, upon my knightly honour, she 
shall marry you!’ 


- Dick bent his knee before his prisoner; but he, leap- | 
ing up lightly from the cross, caught the lad up and 


embraced him like a son. 


“Come,” he said, “an y’ are to marry Joan, we must 


be early friends.” 


iy 


CHAPTER IV 
THE “GOOD HOPE” 


N hour thereafter, Dick was back at the Goat and 
Bagpipes, breaking his fast, and receiving the 
| report of his messengers and sentries. Duck- 
worth was still absent from Shoreby; and this was 
frequently the case, for he played many parts in the 
_ world, shared many different interests, and conducted 
' many various affairs. He had founded that fellow- 
- ghip of the Black Arrow, as a ruined man longing for 
vengeance and money; and yet among those who knew 
him best, he was thought to be the agent and emissary 
of the great King-maker of England, Richard, Earl 
— of Warwick. | 
In his absence, at any rate, it fell upon Richard Shel- 
- ton to command affairs in Shoreby; and, as he sat at 
_ meat, his mind was full of care, and his face heavy 
_ with consideration. It had been determined, between 
_ him and the Lord Foxham, to make one bold stroke 
.. that evening, and, by brute force, to set Joanna free. 
_ The obstacles, however, were many; and as one after 
- another of his scouts arrived, each brought him more 
- discomfortable news. 
_ Sir Daniel was alarmed by the skirmish of the night 
_ before. He had increased the garrison of the house 
_ in the garden; but not content with that, he had sta- 
tioned horsemen in all the neighbouring lanes, so that 
he might have instant word of any movement. Mean- 


" ithe signal to ride. 

_ The adventure of the eae appeared more and more 
e “difficult of execution, till suddenly Dick’s countenance 
a “hiptaaine 


135 


be) TNs oa’ il Ps AE EN Lenin Pe aoa f Le Wat ay murker Ml Naar i ih) La a le Wa 5 ay nV y is BAY mid 
RAE ROR MOOD oC Pea RRL Oe Ha is a Mi BN SN Ca Nae Be 
? é ry AR Ae he Ab VaR eg UR ‘ 

Pal WRAY ; Lg ! ts Ahan Biter ¢ 


oo 
5 XN / 
7 Y% \ 
SA aa 
t f ¥ u 


f 


S60 THE BLACK ARROW 
“Lawless!” he cried, ‘‘you that were a shipman, can 
ye steal me a ship?” 
“Master Dick,” replied Lawless, “if ye would back 


-me, I would agree to steal York Minster.” : 
Presently after, these two set forth and descended 


to the harbour. It was a considerable basin, lying 


among sand-hills, and surrounded with patches of 
down, ancient ruinous lumber, and tumble-down slums 


of the town. Many decked ships and many open 


boats either lay there at anchor, or had been drawn up 
on the beach. A long duration of bad weather had 
driven them from the high seas into the shelter of the 


port; and the great trooping of black clouds, and the 


cold squalls that followed one another, now with a 
sprinkling of dry snow, now in a mere swoop of wind, 
promised no improvement, but rather threatened a 
- more serious storm in the immediate future. 

The seamen, in view of the cold and the wind, had 


for the most part slunk ashore, and were now roaring 


and singing in the shoreside taverns. Many of the 
ships already rode unguarded at their anchors; and as 
the day wore on, and the weather offered no appear- 
ance of improvement, the number was continually be- 
ing augmented. It was to these deserted ships, and, 
above all, to those of them that lay far out, that Law- 
less directed his attention; while Dick, seated upon 


an anchor that was half embedded in the sand, and 


giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding voices 
of the gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the ship- 
men in a neighbouring tavern, soon forgot his imme- 
diate surroundings and concerns in the agreeable 
recollection of Lord Foxham’s promise. 


He was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder. It 


was Lawless, pointing to a small ship that lay some- 
what by itself, and within but a little of the harbour 
mouth, where it heaved regularly and smoothly on the 
entering swell. A pale gleam of winter sunshine fell 
at that moment on the vessel’s deck, relieving her 
against a bank of scowling cloud; and in this momen- 


tary glitter Dick could see a couple of men hauling 4 


the skiff alongside. 


Se ete 
aia rs ea = 
Pe See 
_- ee ee 


THE BLACK ARROW 137 


“There, sir,” said Lawless, “mark ye it well! There 


ty is the ship for to-night.” 
| Presently the skiff put out from the vessel’s side, 
and the two men, keeping her head well to the wind, 
pulled lustily for shore. Lawless turned to a loiterer, 
“How call ye her?” he asked, pointing to the little 
vessel. i 
“They call her the Good Hope, of Dartmouth,” re- 
plied the loiterer. “Her captain, Arblaster by name. 
He pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff.” | 
This was all that Lawless wanted. Hurriedly — 
_ thanking the man, he moved round the shore to a 
_ certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was heading. 
_ There he took up his position, and as soon as they 
___ were within earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the 
_ Good Hope. | 
= “What! Gossip Arblaster!’ he cried. “Why, ye. 
be well met; nay, gossip, ye be right well met, upon 
the rood! And is that the Good Hope? Ay, I would 
know her among ten thousand !—a sweet shear, a sweet 
boat! But marry come up, my gossip, will ye drink? 
I have come into mine estate, which doubtless ye re- 
member to have heard on. I am now rich; I have left 
to sail upon the sea; I do sail now, for the most part, 
upon spiced ale. Come, fellow, thy hand upon’t! 
Come, drink with an old shipfellow!” ; 
Skipper Arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather- 
beaten man, with a knife hanging about his neck by a 
plaited cord, and for all the world like any modern 
Seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in 
obvious amazement and distrust. But the name of an 
estate, and a certain air of tipsified simplicity and 
good-fellowship which Lawless very well affected, 
combined to conquer his suspicious jealousy; his — 
countenance relaxed, and he at once extended his open 
hand and squeezed that of the outlaw in a formidable 
grasp. 
“Nay,” he said, “I cannot mind you. But what o’ 
_ that? I would drink with any man, gossip, and so 
_ would my man Tom. Man Tom,” he added, address- 
_ ing his follower, “here is my gossip, whose name I 


¢* ae ~_—_ 


5 rr, te ee ee es oe 
Co ee ae 


~~, 
, 


Mae A 
~ 


AAs 138 ‘ THE BLACK ARROW 


| cannot mind, but no doubt: a very onoda seaman. Let’s 
go drink with him and his shore friend.” 

Lawless led the way, and they were soon seated in 
an alehouse, which, as it was very new, and stood in 
an exposed and solitary station, was less crowded than ~ 
those nearer to the centre of the port. It was but a 
shed of timber, much like a block-house in the back- 
woods of to-day, and was coarsely furnished with a 
press or two, a number of naked benches, and boards 
set upon barrels to play the part of tables. In the 
middle, and besieged by half a hundred violent 
draughts, a fire of wreckwood blazed and vomited 


i E thick smoke, 


“Ay, now,” said Lawless, “here is a shipman’s joy— 
a good fire and a good stiff cup ashore, with foul 
weather without and an off-sea gale a-snoring in the 
roof! Here’s to the Good Hope! May she ride easy!’ 

“Ay,” said Skipper. Arblaster, “ ’tis good weather 
to be ashore in, that is sooth. Man Tom, how say ye 
to that? Gossip, ye speak well, though I can never 
_ think upon your name; but ye speak very weil. ‘May 
the Good Hope ride easy! Amen.” 
“Friend Dickon,” resumed Lawiess, addressing hig 
‘commander, “ye have certain matters on hand, unless 


vine l err? Well, prithee be about them incontinently. 


afternoon, got him as speedily as he might to the Goat 


For here I be with the choice of all good company, 
- two tough old shipmen; and till that ye return I will 
go warrant these brave fellows will bide here’ and 
drink me cup for cup. We are not like shoremen, we 
‘old, tough tarry-Johns!” 
- “Tt is well meant,” returned the skipper. “Ye can 
£0, boy; for I will keep your good friend and my good 
gossip company till curfew—ay, and by St. Mary, till 
the sun get up again! For, look ye, when a man hath 
been long enough at sea, the salt getteth me into the 
clay upon his bones; and let him drink a draw-well, he 
will never be quenched. ol y; 

Thus encouraged upon all hands, Dick rose, saluted 
his company, and going forth again into the gusty 


‘ _ and Bagpipes, Thence he sent word to my Lord Fox- s 


Peer “THE BLACK ARROW 139 


sa pa ninat so soon as ever the evening Laat they 
would have a stout boat to keep the sea in. And then 
- leading along with him a couple of outlaws who had 
ean _ some experience, he returned himself to the harbour 
a and the little sandy creek. 

8 The skiff of the Good Hope lay among many others, 
~ from which it was easily distinguished by its extreme 
smallness and fragility. Indeed, when Dick and his 
re two men had taken their places, and begun to put 
forth out of the creek into the open harbour, the 
: ie little cockle dipped into the swell and staggered under 

ae every gust of wind, like a thing upon the point of 
; “ata 
_ The Good Hope, as we have said, was anchored far 

- out, where the swell was heaviest. No other vessel 
7 ys lay nearer than several cables’ length; those that were | 
the nearest were themselves entirely deserted; and 
as the skiff approached, a thick flurry of snow and a 
sudden darkening of the weather further concealed 
_ the movements of the outlaws from all possible espiaL 
; rad In a trice they had leaped upon the heaving deck, and 
' - the skiff was dancing at the stern. The Good Hope 
was captured. 

ie _ She was a good stout boat, decked in the bows and 
" amidships, but open in the stern. She carried one . 
_ mast, and was rigged between a felucca and a lugger. 
‘It would seem that Skipper Arblaster had made an 
excellent venture, for the hold was full of pieces of 
: French wine; and in the little cabin, besides the Virgin 
_ Mary in the bulkhead which proved ‘the captain’s piety, 

_ there were many lockfast chests and cupboards, which 
__ showed him to be rich and careful. 

Py A dog, who was the sole occupant of the vessel, 
a, furiously barked and bit the heels of the boarders; but 
he was soon kicked into the cabin, and the door shut 
oF _ upon his just resentment. A lamp was lit and fixed 
_ in the shrouds to mark the vessel clearly from the 
RS Shore; one of the wine-pieces in the hold was broached, 

and a cup of excellent Gascony emptied to the ad- 


a ‘satiate of the evening; and then, while one of the 


es getinivs began to get ready his bow and arrows and 


5 OWS NCR vt ih ok 8 TA, ta Dee AD ES ee eS. Die OS eee eS TA Or Uae Ta ee 
DAVE a ay Len y fees 1 aed AAR 4) ti Fini AY tay ite (etree U4 » ty 2 5 
Me ye OS WAV t Sie NIN raha aoa CDTi TT ORO RR TaN a 
ry Z 4¥ " t¥ pir ie Ute eet Wey CALLA shy. 
WS. i “ag ‘ ven P 


a Ne Nea nge eal ta 
Nazy OT a ¢ 


440° THE BLACK ARROW 


prepare to hold the ship against all comers, the aye 
hauled in the skiff and got overboard, where he held 
on, waiting for Dick. 


| “Well, Jack, keep me a good watch,” said the young _ 


commander, ‘preparing to follow his subordinate. “Ye 
will do right well.” . 
“Why,” returned Jack, “I shall do excellent well in- 

deed, so long as we lie here; but once we put the nose 
of this poor ship outside the harbour: See, there, 
she trembles! Nay, the poor shrew heard the words, 
9d the heart misgave her in her oak-tree ribs. But 

look, Master Dick! how black the weather gathers!’ 
The darkness ahead was, indeed, astonishing. Great 
_ billows heaved up out of the blackness, one after an- 
other; and one after another the Good Hope buoyantly 
climbed, and giddily plunged upon the further side. 
_A thin sprinkle of snow and thin flakes of foam came 
flying, and powdered the deck; and the wind harped 
dismally among the rigging. 

“In sooth, it looketh evilly,” said Dick. “But what 
cheer! ’Tis but a squall, and presently it will blow 
over.” But, in spite of his words, he was depressingly 
affected by the bleak disorder of the sky and the 
wailing and fluting of the wind; and as he got over 
the side of the Good Hope and made once more for 
the landing-creek with the best speed of oars, he 
- erossed himself devoutly, and recommended to Heaven ! 
the lives of all who should adventure on the sea. 

At the landing-creek there had already gathered 

about a dozen of the outlaws. To these the skiff was 
left, and they were bidden embark without delay. 
A little further up the beach Dick found Lord Fox- 
ham hurrying in quest of him, his face concealed with 
a dark hood, and his bright armour covered by a long 
russet mantle of a poor appearance. 


“Young Shelton,” he said, “are ye for the sea, then, — 


truly ?” 
“My lord,” replied Richard. “they lie about the house 


with horsemen; it may not be reached from the land 
side without alarum ; and, Sir Daniel once advertised — 
of our adventure, we can no more carry it to a good. 


Oe ee Se ae 


—— 
See Pe 


( 


THE BLACK ARROW 141 


end than, saving your presence, we could ride upon 
the wind. Now, in going round by sea, we do run some 
peril by the elements; but, what much outweigheth 
| all, we have a chance to make good our purpose and 
‘ bear off the maid.” 
“Well,” returned Lord Foxham, “lead on. I will, 


a 
1 
sn 
(4 
wy 
AN 
$y 
7 ly 
oh 
: i) . 
id : ce OP. Nhu G/ >> 
Te A gi Ni ES 
is . 7 
y 
hy Y 
Mi With his limbs trussed one to another, and a good gag 
4 in his mouth. 
ig 
¥ 


-insome sort, follow you for shame’s sake; but I own I 
would I were in bed.” | 

Here, then,” said Dick. ‘Hither we go to fetch 
our pilot.” 

| And he led the way to the rude alehouse where he 
had given rendezvous to a portion of his men. Some 


142 «=, THE BLACK ARROW — 


OL fhiae he found lingering round the door putida, ‘ ng 


others had pushed more boldly in, and, choosing places 


as near as possible to where they saw their comrade, 


i gathered close about Lawless and the two shipmen. 
These, to judge by the distempered countenance and 


- cloudy eye, had long since gone beyond the boundaries 
of moderation; and as Richard entered, closely fol- 


lowed by Lord Foxham, they were all three tuning up 
an old, pitiful sea-ditty, to the chorus of the wailing 
of the gale. 

The young leader cast a rapid glance about the 


- shed. The fire had just been replenished, and gave 
_ forth volumes of black smoke, so that it was difficult — 


' to see clearly in the further corners. It was plain, 
however, that the outlaws very largely outnumbered 
the remainder of the guests. Satisfied upon this point, 
Im case of any failure in the operation of his plan, 


Dick strode up to the table and resumed his place — 


upon the bench. 
‘ hea 2?” eried the skipper, tipsily, “who are ye, 
ey 2 9 

~*“T want a word with you without, Master Ar- 
~ blaster,” returned Dick; “and here is what we shall 
talk of.” And he showed him a gold noble in the 
glimmer of the firelight. 
_ 'The shipman’s eyes burned, although he still failed 
to recognize our hero. 
“Ay, boy,” he said, “I am with you. Gossip, I will 
be back anon. Drink fair, gossip”; and, taking Dick’s 
arm to steady his uneven ‘steps, he walked to the door 
of the alehouse. 

As soon as he was over the threshold, ten strong 
arms had seized and bound him; and in two minutes 
more, with his limbs trussed one to another, and a 


ce good gag in his mouth, he had been tumbled neck and Bi 
crop into a neighbouring hay-barn. Presently, his 


man Tom, similarly secured, was tossed beside him, 
and the pair were left to their uncouth reflections for 
the night. 


aan 
= ee en 2 -_ aie 
een os oe bree > = 
= > Se Sa en Ps ee an eS 
a Se Sat Eo fr ; 


<0 Oe, ee A 


SS ge a ae omni 
ee oe eet 


oe 
2. 


eae 


ag Fmd Ye 
pene Sr 
Se eat 


-- 
ee 
Pines: 

a, “Seegric Ss 


_ And now, as the time for concealment had gone by, 4 


Lord Foxham’s followers were summoned by a pre- 


THE BLACK ARROW 143 


concerted signal, and the party, boldly taking posses- 
sion of as many boats as their numbers required, 
pulled in a flotilla for the light in the rigging of the, 
ship. Long before the last man had climbed to the 
deck of the Good Hope, the sound of furious shout- 


_ing from the shore showed that a part, at least, of the 


seamen had discovered the loss of their skiffs. 

But it was now too late, whether for recovery or 
revenge. Out of some forty fighting men now mus- 
tered in the stolen ship, eight had been to sea, and 
could play the part of mariners. With the aid of 
these, a slice of sail was got upon her. The cable was 
cut. Lawless, vacillating on his feet, and still shout- 
ing the chorus of sea-ballads, took the long tiller in 
his hands; and the Good Hope began to flit forward — 
into the darkness of the night, and to face the great 
waves beyond the harbour-bar. 

Richard took his place beside the weather rigging. 
Except for the ship’s own lantern, and for some lights 
in Shoreby town, that were already fading to leeward, 
the whole world of air was as black as in a pit. Only 
from time to time, as the Good Hope swooped dizzily 
down into the valley of the rollers, a crest would — 


_break—a great cataract of snowy foam would leap 


in one instant into being—and, in an instant more, 
would stream into the wake and vanish. 

Many of the men lay holding on and praying aloud; 
many more were sick, and had crept into the bottom, 
where they sprawled among the cargo. And what 
with the extreme violence of the motion, and the 
continual drunken bravado of Lawless, still shouting 
and singing at the helm, the stoutest heart on board 
may have nourished a shrewd misgiving as to the — 
result. . 


But Lawless, as if guided by an instinct, steered the — 


snip across the breakers, struck the lee of a great - 
sandbank, where they sailed for a while in smooth 


_ water, and presently after laid her alongside a rude, © 


stone pier, where she was hastily made fast, and lay | 


_ ducking and grinding in the dark. 


CHAPTER V 
THE “GOOD HOPE” (continued) 


HE pier was not far distant from the house in 
which Joanna lay; it now only remained to get 
the men on shore, to surround the house with a 
strong party, burst in the door and carry off the 
captive. They might then regard themselves as done 


_. with the Good Hope; it had placed them on the rear 


of their enemies; and the retreat, whether they should 
succeed or fail in the main enterprise, would be 
directed with a greater measure of hope in the direc- 
tion of the forest and my Lord Foxham’s reserve. 

To get the men on shore, however, was no easy 
task; many had been sick, all were pierced with cold; 
the promiscuity and disorder on board had shaken 
their discipline; the movement of the ship and the 
darkness of the night had cowed their spirits. They 
made a rush upon the pier; my lord, with his sword 
drawn on his own retainers, must throw himself in 
front; and this impulse of rabblement was not re- 
strained without a certain clamour of voices, highly 
to be regretted in the case. 

When some degree of order had been restored, Dick, 


with a few chosen men, set forth in advance. The 
darkness on shore, by contrast with the flashing of 


the surf, appeared before him like a solid body; and 
the howling and whistling of the gale drowned any 
~ lesser noise: 

He had searce reached the end of the pier, however, 
when there fell a lull of the wind; and in this he 
_ seemed to hear on shore the hollow footing of horses 

and the clash of arms. Checking his immediate fol- 


lowers, he passed forward a step or two alone, even 


ee 


ms “ 
ee ee 
2 


se 
ree a 


ag A 


oA 
le a  ~Cle s 


ea 
ae a oS 


setting foot upon the down; and here he made sure he y 


144 


THE BLACK ARROW 145 


could detect the shape of men and horses moving. A 
strong discouragement assailed him. If their enemies 
were really on the watch, if they had beleaguered the 
shoreward end of the pier, he and Lord Foxham were 


taken in a posture of very poor defence—the sea 


behind, the men jostled in the dark upon a narrow 
causeway. He gave a cautious whistle, the signal 
previously agreed upon. 

It proved to be a signal for more than he desired. 
Instantly there fell, through the black night, a shower 
of arrows sent at a venture; and so close were the 
men huddled on the pier that more than one was hit, 
and the arrows were answered with cries of both fear 
and pain. In this first discharge, Lord Foxham was 
struck down; Hawksley had him carried on board 
again at once; and his men, during the brief remainder 
of the skirmish, fought (when they fought at all) 
without guidance. That was, perhaps, the chief cause 
of the disaster which made haste to follow. 

At the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a minute, 
Dick held his own with a handful; one or two were 
wounded upon either side; steel crossed steel; nor had 


there been the least signal of advantage, when, in a 


the twinkling of an eye, the tide turned against the 
party from the ship. Someone cried out that all was 
lost; the men were in the very humour to lend an ear 
to a discomfortable counsel; the cry was taken up. 
“On board, lads, for your lives!” cried another. A 
third, with the true instinct of the coward, raised that 
inevitable report on all retreats: “We are betrayed!’ 


~And in a moment the whole mass of men went surging | | 


and jostling backward down the pier, turning their 
defenceless backs on their pursuers and piercing the 
night with craven outcry. 

One coward thrust off the ship’s stern, while an- 
other still held her by the bows. The fugitives leaped, 
screaming, and were hauled on board, or fell back and 


perished in the sea. Some were cut down upon | 


the pier by the pursuers. Many were injured on the 
ship’s deck in the blind haste and terror of the moment, 
one man leaping upon another, and a third on both. 


- through all the hurly-burly by sheer strength of body 


blood, its deck heaped with fallen men, sprawling and 


146 THE BLACK ARROW | 


At ee: whether by design or incetdant. the bows of 
the Good H ope were liberated; and the ever-ready 
Lawless, who had maintained his place at the helm 


and a liberal use of the cold steel, instantly clapped her 
onthe proper tack. The ship began to move once more 
forward on the stormy sea, its scuppers running 


struggling in the dark. 
‘i Thereupon, Lawless sheathed his dagger, and turn- : 
ing to his next neighbour, “I have left my mark on 4 
them, gossip,” said he, “the yelping, coward hounds.” <) 
Now, while they were all leaping and struggling for | 
their lives, the men had not appeared to observe the eS 
- rough shoves and cutting stabs with which Lawless ‘ 
_ had held his post in the confusion. But perhapsthey 
had already begun to understand somewhat more ‘ 
clearly, or perhaps another ear had overheard the © 
- helmsman’s speech. 
Panic-stricken troops recover slowly, and men who By: 
have just disgraced themselves by cowardice, as if to a 
‘wipe out the memory of their fault, will sometimes a 
run straight into the opposite extreme of insubordina- ii 
tion. So it was now; and the same men who had i 
_ thrown away their weapons and been hauled, feet fore- 7 
most, into the Good Hope, began to cry out upon their id 
leaders, and demand that someone should be punished. Ht. 

This growing ill-feeling turned upon Lawless. Oe 
In order to get a proper offing, the old outlaw had \ 
_ put the head of the Good Hope to seaward. Be: 
“What!” bawled one of the grumblers, “he carrieth 4 
us to seaward!” ly 
“Tis sooth,” cried another. “Nay, we are betrayed 
- for sure.” , 

And they all began to cry out in chorus that they 
were betrayed, and in shrill tones and with abomin- 
able oaths bade Lawless go about-ship and bring them ~ 
| speedily ashore. Lawless, grinding his teeth, con- — 

tinued in silence to steer the true course, guiding the ‘a 
Good Hope among the formidable billows. To their 
empty terrors, as to their dishonourable threats, be- 


THE BLACK ARROW 147 


RS * Reece drink and dignity he scorned to make reply. 


PSE SRS Sn age 


rt ‘2a... P. or * Py ee oe ees EM, Ores es b 
* f ~iby ee. et zs ek 3 nF es 
- =<" ys aot oe 72 . : - 


The malcontents drew together a little abaft the mast, 
and it was plain they were like barnyard cocks, ‘‘crow- 
ing for courage.”’ Presently they would be fit for any 
extremity of injustice or ingratitude. Dick began to 
mount by the ladder, eager to interpose; but one of the 
outlaws, who was also something of a seaman, got 


- beforehand. 


“Lads,” he began, “y’ are right wooden heads, I 


think. For to get back, by the mass, we must-have an 


offing, must we not? And this old Lawless——” 
Someone struck the speaker on the mouth, and the 


- next moment, as a fire springs among dry straw, he 
_ was felled upon the deck, trampled under the feet, and 
despatched by the daggers of his cowardly companions. 


At this the wrath of Lawless rose and broke. 

“Steer yourselves,” he bellowed, with a curse; and, 
careless of the result, he left the helm. 

The Good Hope was, at that moment, trembling on 
the summit of a swell. She subsided, with sickening 
velocity, upon the farther side. A wave, like a great 
black bulwark, hove immediately in front of her; and, 
with a staggering blow, she plunged head-foremost 
through that liquid hill. The green water passed right 
over her from stem to stern, as high as a man’s knees; 


- the sprays ran higher than the mast; and she rose 


again upon the other side, with an appalling, tremulous 
indecision, like a beast that has been deadly wounded. 

Six or seven of the malcontents had been carried 
bodily overboard; and as for the remainder, when they 


found their tongues again, it was to bellow to the | 
saints and wail upon Lawless to come back and take 


the tiller. 
Nor did Lawless wait to be twice bidden. The ter- 
rible result of his fling of just resentment sobered: him 


completely: He knew, better than any one on board, 
how nearly the Good Hope had gone bodily down below | 
- their feet; and he could tell, by the laziness with which 


she met the sea, that the peril was by no means over. 
Dick, who had been thrown down by the concussion 
and half drowned, rose wading to his knees in the 


148 THE BLACK ARROW 


swamped well of the stern, ond crept to the old helms- i 


man’s side. 


“Lawless,” he said, “we do all depend on you; y’ are © 


a brave, steady man, indeed, and crafty in the manage- 

ment of ships; I shall put three men to watch upon 
your safety.” 

_ “Bootless, my master, bootless,” said the steersman, 


peering forward through the dark. ‘‘We come every 


moment somewhat clearer of these sandbanks; with 
every moment, then, the sea packeth upon us heavier, 
and for all these whimperers, they will presently be 
on their backs. For, my master, tis a right mystery, 
‘but true, there never yet was a bad man that was a 
good shipman. None but the honest and the bold can 
endure me this tossing ofa ship.” \4;' 


“Nay, Lawless,” said Dick, laughing, “that is a right 


shipman’s byword, and hath no more of sense than the 


whistle of the wind. But prithee, how go we? Do we 


Tie well? Are we in good case?” 
“Master Shelton,” replied Lawless, “I have been a 


Grey Friar—I praise fortune—an archer, a thief, and ~ 


a shipman. Of all these coats, I had the best fancy to 
die in the Grey Friar’s, as ye may readily conceive, 
and the least fancy to die in John Shipman’s tarry 
jacket; and that for two excellent good reasons: first, 


that the death might take a man suddenly; and second, 
_. for the horror of that great salt smother and welter 


under my foot here’—and Lawless stamped with his 
foot. ‘Howbeit,” he went on, “an I die not a sailor’s 


death, and that this night, I shall owe a tall candle to © 


our Lady.”’ 
“Ts it so?” asked Dick. 


“Tt is right so,’ replied the outlaw.“Do ye not feel 
how heavy and dull she moves upon the waves? Do ye 


not hear the water washing in her hold? She will 
scarce mind the rudder even now. Bide till she has 
settled a bit lower; and she will either go down below 
your boots like a stone image, or drive ashore here, 


under our lee, and come all to pieces like a twist of 


string.” 


“Ye speak with a good courage,” returned Dick. ah 


THE BLACK ARROW 149 


“Ye are not then appalled tis 


“Why, master,” answered Lawless, “if ever a man 
had an ill crew to come to port with, iti is I—a renegade 
friar, a thief, and all the rest on’t. Well, ye may 
wonder, but I keep a good hope in my wallet; and if 
that I be to drown, I will drown with a bright eye, 
Master Shelton, and a steady hand.’’ 

Dick returned no answer, but he was surprised to 


- find the old vagabond of so resolute a temper, and | 
- fearing some fresh violence or treachery, set forth 


upon his quest for three sure men. The great bulk of 
the men had now deserted the deck, which was con- 
tinually wetted with the flying sprays, and where they 


Jay exposed to the shrewdness of the winter wind. 


They had gathered, instead, into the hold of the mer- 
chandise, among the butts of wine, and lighted by twa 
swinging lanterns. 

Here a few kept up the form of revelry, and toasted 
each other deep in Arblaster’s Gascony wine. But as 
the Good Hope continued to tear through the smoking 


waves, and toss her stem and stern alternately high in 


- air and deep into white foam, the number of these 


jolly companions diminished with every. moment and 
with every lurch. Many sat apart, tending their hurts, | 
but the majority were already prostrated with sick- 
ness, and lay moaning in the bilge. 

Greensheve, Cuckow, and a young fellow of Lord 
Foxham’s whom Dick had already remarked for his 


_ Intelligence and spirit, were still, however, both fit to 


understand and willing to obey. These Dick set as a 


-body-guard about the person of the steersman, and 
then, with a last look at the black sky and sea, he 


turned and went below into the cabin, whither Lon 


_ Foxham had been carried by his servants. 


ph tr , j 


CHAPTER VI 
THE “GOOD HOPE” (concluded) 


HE moans of the wounded baron blended with the © 
wailing of the ship’s dog. ‘The poor animal, 
_ whether he was merely sick at heart to be sepa- 
rated from his friends, or whether he indeed recog- 
nized some peril in the labouring of the ship, raised 
his cries, like minute-guns, above the roar of wave and 
- weather; and the more superstitious of the men heard, 
in these sounds, the knell of the Good Hope. ea 
-. Lord Foxham had been laid in a berth, upon a fur — 
cloak. A little lamp burned dim before the Virgin ~ 
in the bulk-head, and by its glimmer Dick could see — 
the pale countenance and hollow eyes of the hurt 
man. 
“I am sore hurt,” said he. “Come near to my side t 
young Shelton; let there be one by me who, at least, — 
is gentle born; for after having lived nobly and richly — 
all the days of my life, this is a sad pass that I should | 
get my hurt in a little ferreting skirmish, and die here, — 
in a foul, cold ship upon the sea, among broken men 
and churls.” cu 
“Nay, my lord,” said Dick, “I pray rather to the — 
saints that ye will recover you of your hurt, and come — 
_ goon and sound ashore.” My 
“How?” demanded his lordship. “Come sound 
ashore? There is, then, a question of it?” 
“The ship laboureth—the sea is grievous and con-— 
_ trary,” replied the lad; “and by what I can learn of my 
fellow that steereth us, we shall do well, indeed, if 
we come dryshod to land.” ri 
“Hal? said the baron, gloomily, “thus shall every 
terror attend upon the passage of my soul! Sir, pray — 
rather to live hard, that ye may die easy, than to be — 


150 


rae | 


ee ere ae 


tabor, and, in the last hour, be plunged among mis- 


fortunes! Howbeit, I have that upon my mind that | 
must not be delayed. We have no priest aboard?” 

“None,” replied Dick. 

“Here, then, to my secular interests,” resumed Lord 
Foxham; “ye must be as good a’ friend to me dead, 
as I found you a gallant enemy when I was living. T 
fall in an evil hour for me, for England; and for them 
that trusted me. My men are being brought by Ham- 
ley—he that was your rival; they will rendezvous in 
the long room at Holywood : this ring from off my 
finger will accredit you to represent mine orders; and 


I shall write, besides, two words upon this paper, 


bidding Hamley yield to you the damsel. Will he 
obey? I know not.” 

“But, my lord, what orders? ?” inquired Dick. 

“Ay, » quoth the baron, “‘ay—the orders’; and he 
looked upon Dick with hesitation. “Are ye Lancaster — 
or York?” he asked, at length. | : 

“T shame to say it,” answered Dick, “I can scarce 
clearly answer. But so much I think is certain: since | 
I serve with Ellis Duckworth, I serve the House of 
York. Well, if that be so, I declare for York.” 

‘Tt is well,” returned the other; “it is exceedingly 
well. For, truly, had ye said Lancaster, I wot not for 
the world what I had done. But sith ye are for York, 
follow me. I came hither but to watch these lords at 
Shoreby, while mine excellent young lord, Richard of 
Gloucester,* prepareth a sufficient force to fall upon 
and scatter them. I have made me notes of their 
strength, what watch they keep, and how they lie; 
and these I was to deliver to my young lord on Sun- 


_ day, an hour before noon, at St. Bride’s Cross beside 


the forest. This tryst I am not like to keep, but I . 
pray you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and see 
that not pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, nor pest- 
ilence withhold you from the hour and place, for the 


*At the date of this story, Richard Crookback could not have 


' been created Duke of Gloucester; but for clearness, with the 


reader’s leave, he shall so be called. 


THE BLACK ARROW IBY Pee 


152 THE BLACK ARROW — 


welfare of England lieth upon this cast.” 


“T do soberly take this upon me,” said Dick. “In 


so far as in me lieth, your purpose shall be done.”’ 

“It is good,’ said the wounded man. “My lord 
Duke shall order you farther, and if ye obey him with 
spirit and goodwill, then is your fortune made. Give 
me the lamp a little nearer to mine eyes, till I write 
these words for you.” 

He wrote a note ‘“‘to his worshipful kinsman, Sir 
John Hamley’”; and then a second, which he left with- 
~ out external superscription. ‘This is for the Duke,” 

hesaid. “The word is ‘England and Edward,’ and the 
counter, ‘England and York.’ ” 

“And Joanna, my lord?’ asked Dick. 


“Nay, ye must get Joanna how ye can,” replied the 


baron. “I have named ye for my choice in both these 
letters; but ye must get her for yourself, boy. I have 
tried, as ye see here before you, and have lost my life. 
More could no man do.” 

By this time the wounded man began to be very 
weary; and Dick, putting the precious papers in his 
_ bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left him to 
- repose. il 

The day was beginning to break, cold and blue, wit 
fiying squalls of snow. Close under the lee of the Good 


Hope, the coast lay in alternate rocky headlands and 


sandy bays; and further inland the wooded hill-tops 
of Tunstall showed along the sky. Both the wind 
and the sea had gone down; but the vessel wallowed 
deep, and scarce rose upon the waves. 

Lawless was still fixed at the rudder; and by this 
time nearly all the men had crawled on deck, and were 
now gazing, with blank faces, upon the inhospitable 
coast. 

“Are we going ashore?” asked Dick. 

“Ay,” said Lawless, “unless we get first to the bot- 


tom.” 


And just then the ship rose so languidly to meet 
@ sea, and the water weltered so loudly in her hold, 
that Dick involuntarily seized the steersman by the 


eS) wd 
Sh v3 
TAs fe CN 
- 


, 4 


‘ae feel Oe, ad oo? So ae Mm Ed ue 
pfs Aiea BGP ST a 


THE BLACK ARROW 153 


Le mal 

a 

cae aa 
4 ay vy 


tie, 


Breaking up the deck to build a raft. 


ig “By the mass!” cried Dick, as the bows of the Good 
Hope reappeared above the foam, “I thought we had 
foundered, indeed; my heart was at my throat.” ee 
f In the waist, Greensheve, Hawksley, and the better 
men of both companies were busy breaking up the 
deck to build a raft; and to these Dick joined him- 
) self, working the harder to drown the memory of his 
predicament. But, even as he worked, every sea that 
- struck the poor ship, and every one of her dull lurches, 


154«~=*=<“«*«STKEE BLACK ARROW 


as she tumbled wallowing among the waves, recalled — 
him with a horrid pang to the immediate proximity of — 
death. Presently, looking up from his work, he saw that 
they were close in below a promontory; a piece of 
- ruinous cliff, against the base of which the sea broke 
white and heavy, almost overplumbed the deck; and 


- above that again, a house appeared, crowning a down. 


Inside the bay, the seas ran gaily, raised the Good 
Hope upon their foam-flecked shoulders, carried her 


| _ beyond the control of the steersman, and in a moment 


- dropped her with a great concussion on the sand, and 

began to break over her, half-mast high, and roll her 

to and fro. Another great wave followed, raised her 
again, and carried her yet farther in; and then a third 
succeeded, and left her far inshore of the more danger- 
ous breakers, wedged upon a bank. 

“Now, boys,” cried Lawless, “the saints have had 

a eare of us, indeed. The tide ebbs; let us but sit 
down and drink a cup of wine, and before half an 
hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a 

bridge.” 

} A barrel was broached, and, sitting in what shelter 
they could find from the flying snow and spray, the 
shipwrecked company handed the cup around, and 

sought to warm their bodies and restore their spirits. 

Dick, meanwhile, returned to Lord Foxham, who 
Jay i in great perplexity and fear, the floor of his cabin 


washing knee-deep in water, and the lamp, which had 


been his only light, broken and extinguished by the 
violence of the blow. 
; “My lord,” said young Shelton, “fear not at all; the 
- saints are plainly for us; the seas have cast us high 


_ upon a shoal, and as soon as the, tide hath somewhat 


ebbed, we may walk ashore upon our feet.” 

It was nearly an hour before the vessel was suf- 
ficiently deserted by the ebbing sea, and they could 
set forth for the land, which appeared dimly before 
_them through a veil of driving snow. 

- Upon a hillock on one side of their way a party of 


men lay huddled together, suspiciously observing the — 


_ movements of the new arrivals. 


‘THE BLACK ARROW _ 155° 


“They might draw near and offer us some comfort,” 
- Dick remarked. | 

“Well, an they come not to us, let us even turn 
aside to them,” said Hawksley. “The sooner we come 
to a good fire and a dry bed, the better for my poor 
lord.” 

But they had not moved far in the direction of the 
hillock before the men, with one consent, rose sud- 
denly to their feet, and poured a flight of well-directed 
arrows on the shipwrecked company. 

“Back! back!” cried his lordship. “Beware, in 
Heaven’s name, that ye reply not!” 

“Nay,” cried Greensheve, pulling an arrow from his | 
leather jack. “We are in no posture to fight, it is 
certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary, and three- 
parts frozen; but, for the love of old England, what 
aileth them to shoot thus cruelly on their poor coun- 
try people in distress?” > 
| “They take us to be French pirates,” answered Lord } 

- Foxham. “In these most troublesome and degenerate | 

days we cannot keep our own shores of England; but ~ > aha 
_ our old enemies whom we once chased on sea and land, on 
- do now range at pleasure, robbing and saueneoritelt 
ane It is the pity and reproach of this poor - 
yA Th lait vei 
4 The men upon the hillock lay, closely observing them, 
_ while they trailed upward from the beach, and wound 
_ inland among desolate sand-hills; for a mile or so they 
- even hung upon the rear of the march, ready, at a 
’ sign, to pour another volley on the weary and dispir- 
ited fugitives; and it was only when, striking at length 
“3 upon a firm high-road, Dick began to call his men to 
_ some more martial order, that these jealous guardians 
_ of the coast of England silently disappeared among the — 
_ snow. They had done what they desired; they had 
: protected their own homes and farms, their own fam- 
- ilies and cattle; and their private interest being thus 
secured, it mattered not the weight of a straw to any 
one of them, although the Frenchmen should carry 
_ blood and fire to every other parish in the realm of 
ani 


BOOK IV a 
THE DISGUISE 


CHAPTER I 
THE DEN 


“WAHE place where Dick had struck the line of ahigh- _ 
road was not far from Holywood, and within. © 
| nine or ten miles of Shoreby-on-the-Till; and 
here after making sure that they were pursued no 
longer, the two bodies separated. Lord Foxham’s fol- — 
lowers departed, carrying their wounded master to- 
wards the comfort and security of the great abbey; — 
and Dick, as he saw them wind away and disappear in 
the thick curtain of the falling snow, was left alone 
with near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder 
of his troop of volunteers. j 
Some were wounded; one and all were furious at 
their ill-success and long exposure; and though they 
were now too cold and hungry to do more, they grum- 
bled and cast sullen looks upon their leaders. Dick 
emptied his purse among them, leaving himself noth- 
ing; thanked them for the courage they had displayed, 
though he could have found it more readily in his heart 
to rate them for poltroonery; and having thus some- | 
what softened the effect of his prolonged misfortune, 
despatched them to find their way, either severally 
_or in pairs, to Shoreby and the Goat and Bagpipes. 

For his own part, influenced by what he had seen © 
on board of the Good Hope, he chose Lawless to be 
his companion on the walk. The snow was falling, 
without pause or variation, in one even, blinding cloud; 
the wind had been strangled, and now blew no longer; 
- and the whole world was blotted out and sheeted down 
below that silent inundation. There was great danger — 
of wandering by the way and perishing in drifts; and ~~ 
Lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion, — 
and holding his head forward like a hunting dog upon ~ 


156 


THE BLACK ARROW 157 


the scent, inquired his way of every tree, and studied 
out their path as though he were conning a ship among 
dangers. 

4,bout a mile into the forest they came to < place 
where several ways met, under a grove of lofty and 
contorted oaks. Even in the narrow horizon of the 
falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be. 
recognized; and Lawless evidently recognized it with 
particular delight. 

“Now, Master Richard,” said he, “an y’ are not too 
proud to be the guest of a man.who is neither a gentle- 
man by birth nor so much as a good Christian, I can 
offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to melt the 


- marrow in your frozen bones.” 


“Lead on, Will,” answered Dick. “A cup of wine 

and a good fire! Nay, I would go a far way round to 
see them.” 
. Lawless turned aside under the bare branches of 
the grove, and, walking resolutely forward for some 
time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that had now 
drifted a quarter full of snow. On the verge a great 
beech-tree hung, precariously rooted; and here the 
old outlaw, pulling aside some bushy underwood, bod- 
ily disappeared into the earth. 

The beech had, in some violent gale, been half-up- 
rooted, and had torn up a considerable stretch of turf; 


and it was under this that old Lawless had dug out 
his forest hiding-place. The roots served him for 
rafters, the turf was his thatch, for walls and floors 


he had his mother the earth. Rude as it was, the. 


_ hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, and the pres- 


ence in another of a large oaken chest well fortified 
with iron, showed it at one glance to be the den of a 


man, and not the burrow of a digging beast. 


Though the snow had drifted at the mouth and 
sifted in upon the floor of this earth-cavern, yet was — 
the air much warmer than without; and when Law- 


_ less had struck a spark, and the dry furze bushes had 
begun to blaze and crackle on the hearth, the place 
. Cont even to the eye, an air of comfort and of 
home, 


es Ae “THE BLACK ARROW. 


With a sigh of great contentment Lawless ee 
his broad hands before the fire, and seemed to breathe 


_ the smoke. 
“Here, then,” he said, “is this old Lawless’s rabbit- — a 


hole; pray Heaven there come no terrier! Far have 
I rolled hither and thither, and here and about, since 
that I was fourteen years of mine age and first ran 
away from mine abbey, with the sacrist’s gold chain 
and a mass-book that I sold for four marks. I have 


been in England and France and Burgundy, and in — 4 
- $pain, too, on a pilgrimage for my poor soul; and ~ 


upon the sea, which is no man’s country. But here 
is my place, Master Shelton. This is my native land, 
this burrow in the earth. Come rain or wind—and 
whether it’s April, and the birds all sing, and the 
blossoms fall about my bed, or whether it’s winter, 
and I sit alone with my good gossip the fire, and robin 
redbreast twitters in the woods—here is my church 
and market, my wife and child. It’s here I come back 
to, aoe it’s here, so please the saints, that I would like 
to die 

“Tis a warm corner, to be sure,” replied Dick, “and 
a pleasant, and a well hid.’ 
“Tt had need to be,” returned Lawless, “for an they 


- found it, Master Shelton, it would break my heart. 
iy ‘But here,” he added, burrowing with his stout fingers 


“In the sandy floor, “here is my wine cellar, and ye 


shall have a flask of excellent strong stingo.” 


‘Sure enough, after a little digging, he produced a ) 
big bottle of about a gallon, nearly three parts full — A 


of a very heady and sweet wine; and when they had 


drunk to each other comradely, and the fire had been — 
replenished and blazed up again, the pair lay at full ~~ 
length, thawing and steaming, and divinely warm. i 

‘‘Master Shelton,” observed the outlaw, “y’ ’ave had | 
two mischances this last while, and y’ are like to lose 
the maid—do I take it aright? ud ae 
“Aright,” returned Dick, nodding his head. 


“Well, now,” continued Lawless, “hear an old fool y 
‘that hath been nigh-hand everything, and seen nigh- ~ 


hand all. “Ye go too much on other people’s errands, 


tie se ee Mes 2 hes Cini a 


Yas ie ti j , yt K, 
rey a8 oP doy I> na 
Sy " 
jan Nate ; 


- \ 
’ ‘ ie a ql 
Ret ¥ f : ‘ % 
A. ' } h 


THE pia ARROW 159 


Master Dick. Ye go on Ellis’s; but he desiréth rather 
the death of Sir Daniel. Ye go on Lord Foxham’s; 
well—the saints preserve him!—doubtless he meaneth | 
well. But go ye upon your own, good Dick. Come 

right to the maid’s side. Court her, lest that she for- 


get you. Be ready; and when the chance shall come, | 


off with her at the saddlebow.” 
“Ay, but, Lawless, beyond doubt she is now in Sir 
Daniel’s own mansion,” answered Dick. 
“Thither, then, go we,” replied the outlaw. 
Dick stared at him. 
: “Nay, I mean it,” nodded Lawless. “And if y’ are 
- of so little faith, and stumble at a word, see here!” 
_ And the outlaw, taking a key from about his neck, 
opened the oak chest, and dipping and groping deep. 
among its contents, produced first a friar’s robe, and 
next a girdle of rope; and then a huge rosary of wood, 
- heavy enough to be counted as a weapon. 
“Here,” he said, “is for you. On with them! 1 
And then, when Dick had clothed himself in this 
clerical disguise, Lawless produced some colours and 
-a pencil, and proceeded, with the greatest cunning, to 
disguise his face. The eyebrows he thickened and 
produced; to the moustache, which was yet hardly 
visible, he rendered a like service; while, by a few 
_ lines around his eye, he changed the expression and 
' increased the apparent age of this young monk. 
_ “Now,” he resumed, “when I have done the like, we 
_ shall make as bonny a pair of friars as the eye could 
- wish. Boldly to Sir Daniel’s we shall go, and there be 
- hospitably welcome for the love of Mother Church.” 
iq “And how, dear Lawless,” cried the lad, ‘‘shall I 
repay you?” 
“Tut, brother,” replied the outlaw, “I do naught but 
_ for my pleasure. Mind not for me. I am one, by the 
mass, that mindeth for himself. When that I lack, 
JI have a long tongue and a voice like the monastery 
_ bell—I do ask, my son; and where asking faileth, I 
- do most usually take.” 
_ The old rogue made a humorous grimace, and al- 
though Dick was displeased to lie under so great fav- 


to restrain his mirth. 


| arrows. 


fore arrows, when ye take no bow?” 


SRE RES eae CME NIN) PCO a Mea MNS AR AER is Ol ON 
LeAnn Ys baer eee eA YT ti ei 4 if Fie te Mr hy Cee Ca | 
SEIN Ge) eoy yee? Baty BIOL ANIAG SEL ae ib SEES eh ye Ata SF eh 

\ 1 i a ADS DSS ENS Sy eh 


160 --' THE BLACK ARROW 
ours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet unable _ ; 


With that, Lawless returned to the big chest, and 
‘was soon similarly disguised; but below his gown, 
Dick wondered to observe him conceal a sheaf of black — 


“Wherefore do ye that?” asked the lad. ‘‘Where- " 


“Nay, replied Lawless, lightly, ‘‘ ’tis like there will 
be heads broke—not to say backs—ere you and I win 
sound from where were going to; and if any fall, I 
would our fellowship should come by the credit on’t. 
A black arrow, Master Dick, is the seal of our abbey; 
it showeth you who writ the bill.” 

“An ye prepare so carefully,” said Dick, “I have 
here some papers that, for mine own sake, and the 
interest of those that trusted me, were better left be-. 
hind than found upon my body. Where shall I con- 
ceal them, Will?” 

“Nay,” replied Lawless, “I will go forth into the © 
wood and whistle me three verses of a song; mean- ~ 
while, do you bury them where ye please, and smooth — 
the sand upon the place.” 4 

“Never!” cried Richard. “I trust you, man. I were — 
base indeed if I not trusted you.” | 

“Brother, y’ are but a child,” replied the old out- — 
law, pausing and turning his face upon Dick from the ~ 
threshold of the den. “I am a kind old Christian, and — 
no traitor to men’s blood, and no sparer of mine own ~ 
in a friend’s jeopardy. But, fool child, I am a thief | 
by trade and birth and habit. If my bottle were empty ~ 
and my mouth dry, I would rob you, dear child, as sure 
as I love, honour, and admire your parts and person! — 
Can it be clearer spoken? No.’ . 

And he stumped forth through the bushes with a © 
snap of his big fingers. 4 

Dick, thus left alone, after a wondering though a 
upon the inconsistencies of his companion’s character, ; 
hastily produced, reviewed, and buried his panckey ‘f 


ee ee en Pig-es es pies 


en 


= 


THE BLACK ARROW 161 


_ gerve him, in a pinch, against Sir Daniel. That was 

the knight’s own letter to Lord Wensleydale, sent by — 
Throgmorton, on the morrow of the defeat at Rising- 
ham, and found next day by Dick upon the body of 
the messenger. 

Then, treading down the embers of the fire, Dick 
left the den, and rejoined the old outlaw, who stood 
awaiting him under the leafless oaks, and was already 
beginning to be powdered by the falling snow. Each 

_ looked upon the other, and each laughed, so thorough 

and so droll was the disguise. 

“Yet I would it were but summer and a clear day,’ 

grumbled the outlaw, “that I might see myself in the 
mirror of a pool. There be many of Sir Daniel’s men 
that know me; and if we fell to be recognized, there 

_ might be two words for you, my brother, but as for 
me, in a paternoster-while, I should be kicking in a 
rope’s-end.”’ 

Thus they set forth together along the road to 
Shoreby, which, in this part of its course, kept near — 

_ the margin of a "forest, coming forth from time to time 

- in the open country, and passing beside poor folk’s 
houses and small farms. 

Presently, at sight of one of these, Lawless pulled 


up. 
“Brother Martin,” he said, in a voice capitally dis- 
_ guised, and suited to his monkish robe, “let us enter 
and seek alms from these poor sinners. Pax vobis- 
cum! Ay,” he added, in his own voice, “’tis as I 
h feared; I have somewhat lost the whine of it; and by 
your leave, good master Shelton, ye must suffer me to 
_ practise in these country places, before that I risk my 
fat neck by entering Sir Daniel’s. But look ye a little, 
“what an excellent thing it is to be a Jack-of-all-trades! 
; An T had not been a shipman, ye had infallibly gone 
' down in the Good Hope; an I had not been a thief, 
A, - I could not have painted me your face; and but that 
I had been a Grey Friar, and sung loud in the choir, | 
_ and ate hearty at the board, I could not have carried — 
Ge ths disguise, but the very dogs would have spied us 
BR pet and barked at us for shams.” 


at A } eee: Bik i) 
net PN tary Wola BaDERIS te pivots 3 
1s ye 


1220s BLACK ARROW 


He was nee this time plo to the ibePR Oo of chee 
_ farm, and he rose on his tip-toes and peeped in. sis 
“Nay,” he cried, “better and better. We shall et 


ee eo oe Set ae 5 ee ee 


He drew from under his robe a black arrow. 


try our false faces with a vengeance, and have a merry © 
jest on Brother Capper to boot.” 
_ And so saying he opened the door and led the way > 
into the house. 

Three of their own company sat at the table, greedily — 
eating. Their daggers, stuck beside them in the board, ~ 
and the black and menacing looks which they continued — hy 
2710 shower upon the people of the house, proved that 
_ they owed their entertainment rather to force than 
favour. On the two monks, who now, with a sort of i‘ 
- humble dignity, entered the kitchen of the farm, hee 4 


pwns hae he t ‘ } Aya \ its 4 y ih \ a ' Ly ee Re 
tay ae vi € ht 
Mb Ls . Lae 
fi Sa abd 

“THE BLACK ARROW il 


: i RG: to turn with a particular resentment; and one — , 
: i —it was John Capper in person—who seemed to play 
the leading part, instantly and rudely orderrd them 


: away. 

_ “We want no beggars here!” he cried. 

_ _ But another—although he was far from recognizing 

_ Dick and Lawless—inclined to more moderate coun-— 
- gels. 

Bs “Not so,” he eried. “We be strong men, and take: 

> ‘these be weak, and crave; but in the latter end these 


a father; but come, drink of my cup, and give me a 
benediction.” + 
_ “Y? are men of a light mind, carnal and accursed, ” 

_ said the monk. “Now, may the saints forbid that 
_ ever I should drink with such companions! But here, 
a for the pity I bear to sinners, here I do leave you a 


® shall be uppermost and we below. Mind him not, my 
\ 


BK blessed relic, the which, for your soul’s interest, I bid he 


' you kiss and cherish.” 


So far Lawless thundered upon them like a preach- ; 
- ing friar; but with these words he drew from under — 


_ his robe a black arrow, tossed it on the board in front. 
_ of the three startled outlaws, turned in the same in- 
> stant, and, taking Dick along with him, was out of the 
- room and out of sight among the falling snow before 
{ _ they had time to utter a word or move a finger. 

4 “So,” he said, “we have proved our false faces, 
_ Master Shelton. I will now adventure my poor car- 
. - case where ye please.” | ee 
m “Good!” returned Richard. “It irks me to be doing. 
_ Set we on for Shoreby !” 


Pas. Oh ak EP ME ia eh Ge ak Se ta dt AER ANS ey Ce UDR Re we ef 
PAT W STURN Sl RRLN IT Rt San MURR aR ERC AL CR ie 


CHAPTER Hf 
“IN MINE ENEMIES’ HOUSE” 


IR DANIEL’S residence in Shoreby was a tall, 
commodious, plastered mansion, framed in carven 


oak, and covered by a low-pitched roof of thatch. — 


To the back there stretched a garden, full of fruit- 
trees, alleys, and thick arbours, and overlooked from 
the far end by the tower of the abbey church. 


The house might contain, upon a pinch, the retinue | 


of a greater person than Sir Daniel; but even now it 


was filled with hubbub. The court rang with arms. — 


and horseshoe-iron; the kitchen roared with cookery 
like a bees’-hive; minstrels, and the players of instru- 
ments, and the cries of tumblers, sounded from the 
hall. Sir Daniel, in his profusion, in the gaiety and 
gallantry of his establishment, rivalled with Lord 
Shoreby, and eclipsed Lord Risingham. 
All guests were made welcome. Minstrels, tumblers, 


players of chess, sellers of relics, medicines, perfumes — 


and enchantments, and along with these every sort of 


priest, friar or pilgrim, were made welcome to the — 
lower table, and slept together in the ample lofts, or on 


the bare boards of the long dining-hall. 

On the afternoon following the wreck of the Good 
Hope, the buttery, the kitchens, the stables, the covered 
cartshed that surrounded two sides of the court, were 


~all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to Sir © 


Daniel’s establishment, and attired in his livery of 


murrey and _ blue, partly nondescript strangers — 


attracted to the town by greed, and received by the 


knight through policy, and because it was the fashion i 


of the time. 


The snow, which still fell without interruption, the 4 
extreme chill of the air, and the approach of night, 


164 


THE BLACK ARROW 165 


_ combined to keep them under shelter. Wine, ale, and 
- money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in 
_ the straw of the barn, many were still drunken from , 
_ the noontide meal. To the eye of a modern it would ? 
_ have looked like the sack of a city; to the eye of a 7 
contemporary it was like any other rich and noble | 
_ household at a festive season. Fd 
_ Two monks—a young and an old—had arrived late, 
and were now warming themselves at a bonfire in a 
- corner of the shed. A mixed crowd surrounded them 
_ —Jjugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers; and with these 
" the elder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a 
conversation, and exchanged so many loud guffaws 
and country witticisms, that the group momentarily 
- increased in number. 
The younger companion, in whom the reader has 
already recognized Dick Shelton, sat from the first 
somewhat backward, and gradually drew himself | 
away. He listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not 
his mouth; and by the grave expression of his 
. countenance, he made but little account of his com- 
- panion’s pleasantries. 

At last his eye, which travelled continually to and 
fro, and kept a guard upon all the entrances of the 
house, lit upon a little procession entering by the main 
‘ gate and crossing the court in an oblique direction. Two 

ladies, muffled in thick furs, led the way, and were 
= by a pair of waiting-women and four stout 
. 
si 


ae ge ae ge 


men-at-arms. The next moment they had disappeared 
within the house; and Dick, slipping through the 
crowd of loiterers in the shed, was already giving hot 
pursuit. 
“The taller of these twain was Lady Brackley,” he 
; vob ‘and where Lady Brackley is, Joan will not 
oy ar 
ie At the door of the house the four men-at-arms had 
_ ceased to follow, and the ladies were now mounting 
. the stairway of polished oak, under no better escort 
_ than that of the two waiting-women. Dick followed 
_ close behind. It was already the dusk of the day; 
and i in the house the darkness of the night had almost 


ies ate BLACK ARROW 


Sih Pobatied © by every door. And where the door stood 
_ open, Dick could look in upon arras-covered walls, and ~ 


-eome. On the Hire a torches es in aa w 


- -~wood-fires. ae 


| “younger and shorter of the two ladies had looked back — 
keenly at the monk. He, keeping his eyes lowered, — 


had attracted her attention. And now, on the third : 
floor, the party separated, the younger lady continuing ~ 
to ascend alone, the other, followed by the ware 


hard an I find not Dame Hatch upon an errand.” 


é in the furs. She, on her part, was shocked and ter-_ 
- rified beyond expression, and hung trembling in ee 


- thousand pardons; but T have no eyes behind, and, by) 
fi the mass, I could not tell ye were a maid.” 


by suspicion. Dick, who could read these changes on 
her face, became alarmed for his own safety in that; 
hostile house. 


i . to kiss your hand, in token ye age my roughnessa 
and I will even go.” 


holders: down the long tapestried corridors a lamp 


rush-bescattered floors, glowing in the light of the ” 


Two floors were passed, and at every landing the 3 


and affecting the demure manners that suited his dis- | 
guise, had but seen her once, and was unaware that he © 


maids, descending the corridor to the right. 
Dick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to thal 
corner, thrust forth his head and followed the three 
women with his eyes. Without turning or looking : 
behind them, they continued to descend the corridor. — 
“It is right well,” thought Dick. “Let me but : 
know my Lady Brackley’ s chamber, and it will zo . 
q 
And just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, 4 
and, with a bound and a choked cry, he turned to. 
grapple his assailant. : 
He was somewhat abashed to find, in the person q 
whom he had so roughly seized, the short young lady 


grasp. 
“Madam,” said Dick, releasing her, “y ery you a 


The girl continued to look at him, but, by this time, | 
terror began to be succeeded by surprise, and surprise 


“Fair maid,” he said, affecting easiness, “suffer me 


THE BLACK ARROW 167 


Pony. lady, looking him both sain zu shrewdly in 

the face; ‘and now that my first astonishment hath 

~ somewhat passed away, I can spy the layman in each 

word you utter. What do ye here? Why are ye thus 

an _gacrilegiously tricked out? Come ye in peace or war? 
- And why spy ye after Lady Brackley like a thief?” 

: “Madam,” quoth Dick, “of one thing I pray ye to be © 
very sure: I am no thief. And even if I come here in 
war, as in some degree I do, I make no war upon fair 

_ Maids, and I hereby entreat them to copy me so far, 
and leave me be. For, indeed, fair mistress, cry out— 

it such be your pleasure—cry but once, and say what 
ye have seen, and the poor gentleman before you is 


“merely a dead man. I cannot think ye would be 
Y. cruel, ” added Dick; and taking the girl’s hand gently in 


“Are ye then a spy—a Yorkist? 2?” asked the maid. 
Ba. “Madam, ” he ene “I am indeed a Yorkist, and 


Berd interest of your kind es is neither of York nor 
Lancaster. I will wholly put my life in your discre- | 
tion. I am a lover, and my’ name——” | 
_ But here the young lady clapped her hand suddenly 
‘upon Dick’s mouth, looked hastily up and down and 
tte and west, and, seeing the coast clear, began to 
' drag the young man, with great strength and vehe- 
oT ence, upstairs. 

es “Hush! !’’ she said, “‘and come. Shalt talk hereafter.” 
Somewhat bewildered, Dick suffered himself to be 
"pulled upstairs, bustled along a corridor, and thrust 
suddenly into a chamber, lit, like so many of the others, 
“y by a blazing log upon the hearth. 

He: “Now,” said the young lady, forcing him down upon. 


mat 


"pleasure. I have life and death over you, and I will 
not scruple to abuse my power. Look to yourself; 

‘y’ ’ave cruelly mauled my arm. He knew not I was 
‘a maid, quoth he! Had he known I was a maid, he 


had ta’en his belt to me, forsooth!”’ 


; Aah ue 
n 


a stool, “esit ye there and attend my sovereign good Bt 


ee) AN tat CN RNS RTD Tne ai a eS STL aR COED Wk Ean thas oa we NEU OE 0S 
‘ Be ae ae es URE hy CY MANOVA Dna ie APES ER eS eR why 
i Nina i LE a a et antes Reet Ny 8 t 
. DAY ABs t 


_ the more fool I, but I believed it!” 


Neh 
wy 


168  +HE BLACK ARROW 


And with these words she whipped out of the room, — 
and left Dick gaping with wonder, and not very sure : 
if he were dreaming or awake. 
 “Ta’en my belt to her! he repeated. “Ta’en my 
belt to her!’ And the recollection of that evening in | 
the forest flowed back upon his mind, and he once more : 
saw Matcham’s wincing body and beseeching eyes. 

And then he was recalled to the dangers of the pres- : 

ent. In the next room he heard a stir, as of a person 
moving; then followed a sigh, which sounded strangely. © 
near; and then the rustle of skirts and tap of feet once 
more began. As he stood hearkening, he saw the 4 
arras wave along the hall; there was the sound of a — " 
door being opened, the hangings divided, and, lamp 
in hand, Joanna Sedley entered the apartment. 

She was attired in costly stuffs of deep and warm 4 
colours, such as befit the winter and the snow. Upon © 
her head, her hair had been gathered together and © 
became her as a crown. And she, who had seemed — 
so little and so awkward in the attire of Matcham, was 

now tall like a young willow, and swam across the > 
floor as though she scorned the drudgery of walking. 
Without a start, without a tremor, she raised her 
lamp and looked at the young monk, y 
“What make ye here, good brother?” she inquired. 
“Ye are doubtless ill-directed. Whom do ye re q 
And she set wher. lamp upon the bracket. 4 
“Joanna,” said Dick; and then is voice failed him. | q 
“Joanna,” he began again, “ye said ye loved me; and f 


See 


“Dick!” she cried. “Dick!” | 

And then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful ~ 
and tall young lady made but one step of it, and threw 

her arms about his neck, and gave him a hundred | 
_ kisses all in one. ’ 
“Oh, the fool fellow!” she cried. “Oh, dear Dick 14 
Oh, if ye could see yourself! Alack!” she added, 
pausing, “I have spoilt you, Dick! I have knocked. : 
some of the paint off. But that can be mended. What P 
cannot be mended, Dick—or I much fear it cannot! oh: 
my marriage with Lord Shoreby.” iS 


eee 


THE BLACK ARROW 169 


“Ts it decided, then?” asked the lad. - | 
“To-morrow, before noon, Dick, in the abbey 
church,” she answered, “John Matcham and Joanna 
Sedley both shall come to a right miserable end. There 
is no help in tears, or I could weep mine eyes out. I 
have not spared myself to pray, but Heaven frowns 
 onmy petition. And, dear Dick—good Dick—but that 

 yecan get me forth of this house before the morning, 
we must even kiss and say good-bye.” 

“Nay,” said Dick, “not I; I will never say that word. 

"Tis like despair; but while there’s life, Joanna, there 


eS Oe ee ~ 
ae 
y 


umph! Look ye, now, when ye were but a name to 
me, did I not follow—did I not rouse good men—did I 


; not stake my life upon the quarrel? And now that 

_ I have seen you for what ye are—the fairest maid and 

- sgtateliest of England—think ye I would turn?—if the | 
deep sea were there, I would straight through it; if the i; 


way were full of lions, I would scatter them like mice.’ 


sky-blue robe!" | 

“Nay, Joan,” protested Dick, “’tis not alone the 
robe. But, lass, ye were disguised. Here am I dis- 
guised; and, to the proof, do I not eut a figure of fun— 
a right fool’s figure?” 

“Ay, Dick, an’ that ye do!”’ she answered, smiling. 

“Well, then!” he returned, triumphant. “So was it 
with you, poor Matcham, in the forest. In sooth, ye 
were a wench to laugh at. But now?” 

So they ran on, holding each other by both hands, | 
exchanging smiles and lovely looks, and melting min- 
utes into seconds; and so they might have continued 
all night long. But presently there was a noise behind 

them; and they were aware of the short young lady, 
- with her finger on her dips. 


pans? Dat, Ent das 


—— oe rz ye 


— 


> - 
ce ie 


_ maid of the woods, what will ye give your gossip for 
_ bringing you your sweetheart?” 

- Joanna ran to her, by way of answer, and embraced. 
| _ her fierily. 


is hope. Yet will I hope. Ay, by the mass, and tri- — ae 


“Ay.” she said, dryly, “ye make a great ado about a fvin 


“Saints!” she cried, “but what a noise ye keep! Can : fA 
ye not speak in compass? And now, Joanna, my fair — 


ito ee BLACK ARROW ee 


“And oa: sir, added the young lady, “what do ye i. 
give me?” Bi 

“Madam,” said Dick, “T would fain offer to pay you 
in the same money.” 

“Come, then,” said the lady, “it is permitted you.” 
le But Dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her 
hand. 

“What ails ye at my face, fair sir?’ she inquired, 
curtseying to the very ground; and, then, when Dick 
had at Jength and most tepidly embraced her, 
“Joanna,” she added, “your sweetheart is very back- 
‘ward under your eyes; but I warrant you, when first 
we met, he was more ready. I am all black and blue, 
wench; trust me never, if I be not black and blue! 
_ And now,” she continued, “have ye said your sayings? 
for I must speedily dismiss the paladin.” 
But at this they both cried out that they had said 

nothing, that the night was still very young, and that 
they would not be separated so early. 

“And supper?” asked the young lady. ‘“‘Must we not 
go down to supper?” | 

“Nay, to be sure!” cried Joan. “I had forgotten.” ~ 
“Hide me, then,’’ said Dick, ‘Sput me behind the 

arras, shut me in a chest, or what ye will, so that I — 
_ may be here on your return. Indeed, fair lady,” he ~ 
added, “bear this in mind, that we are sore bestead, and 
_ may never look upon each other’s face from this night ow 

forward till we die.” 
At this the young lady melted; and when, a little | 
after, the bell summoned Sir Daniel’s household to ~ 
the board, Dick was planted very stifily against the ~ 
wall, at a place where a division in the tapestry per- 
mitted him to breathe the more freely, and even to 
- see into the room. a 
He had not been Jong in this position when he was 
somewhat strangely disturbed. The silence in that — 
upper storey of the house was only broken by the © 
_ flickering of the flames and the hissing of a green log | 
in the chimney; but presently, to Dick’s strained hear- | 
_ Ing, there came the sound of someone walking with © 
_ extreme precaution; and soon after the door opened, 


es ijs, Tteeye "vv \3 | ie Pad Be i eae" a ae 8 ae a er eee ? lm, 
A s faites Bik se rao eh) RT ORY Deas Cal SEM UIP? Papa tbe 
mf Ee Me yy? ye Maal 2 Gye Nias 7 fh , { 
, VA ey ‘u ( 
j ) Vi 


\ pe baa ‘ 


“THE BLACK ARROW | %y 171 d 


‘. Vand. vi ‘Tittle black-faced, a vaenah fellow, in Lord 
WA Shoreby’s colours, pushed first his head and then his 
. crooked body into the chamber. His mouth was open, 
_as though to hear the better; and his eyes, which were 
very bright, flitted restlessly and swiftly to and fro. 
He went round and round the room, striking here and 
4 ‘there upon the hangings: but Dick, by a miracle, 
" escaped his notice. Then he looked below the furni- 
_ ture, and examined the lamp; and at last, with an air 
of cruel disappointment, was preparing to go away as — 
a "silently as he had come, when down he dropped upon 


his knees, picked up something from among the rushes | | 


on the floor, examined it, and with every signal of 
delight, concealed it in the wallet at his belt. | 


_ tassel from his own girdle; and it was plain to him 


Dick’s heart sank, for the object in question was a> wl 


y that this dwarfish spy, who took a malign delight in _ ; 


io his employment, would lose no time in bearing it to 


bie master, the baron. He was half-tempted to throw 


- aside the arras, fall upon the scoundrel, and, at the 
4 risk of his life, remove the tell-tale token. And while 
he was still hesitating, a new cause of concern was 
Ht ‘added. A voice, hoarse and broken by drink, began 
wh to be audible from the stair; and presently after, un- 
_ even, wandering, and heavy footsteps sounded without : 
_ along the passage. 
_ “What make ye here, my merry men, among the 


a rattle of drunken laughter; and then once more 
ms ene into song: 


“If ye should drink the clary wine, 
Fat Friar John, ye friend 0’ mine— 
If I should eat, and ye should drink, 
Who shall sing the mass, d’ye think?” 


01 ise, seeking for a corner wherein to slumber off 
e effect of his potations. Dick inwardly raged. The 


. greenwood shaws?” sang the voice. “What make yet 
3 here? Hey! sots, what make ye here?” it added, with «| 


8 Y, at first terrified, had grown reassured as he found : i 


Sin AWN hy Rs aus to VIDHAN NL GRAB. Of 
fis Ne Ran in Hache) POR Mint ONE J 
key | od Ving’ ABS NG ar ont) Ay. ae NA te en 
oh # , PAA RAS ANS Mri t Viite SAM RUA ETN) Aa tebe it 
} rh y Wt Hemet 


memtate AE ar 
Mass 


172 +~«* THE BLACK ARROW 


he had to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with — 
a movement of cat-like rapidity, slipped from the © 
chamber, and was gone from Richard’s eyes. 
What was to be done? If he lost touch of Lawless 
for the night he was left impotent, whether to plan or — 


one earry forth Joanna’s rescue. If, on the other hand, © 


he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the spy might — 
still be lingering within sight, and the most fatal con- © 
sequences ensue. 
It was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that Dick ~ 
decided. Slipping from behind the tapestry, he stood — 
ready in the doorway of the chamber, with a warning — 
hand upraised. Lawless, flushed crimson, with his © 
eyes injected, vacillating on his feet, drew still un- 
steadily nearer. At last he hazily caught sight of his 
commander, and, in despite of Dick’s. imperious 
signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name. 
Dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously. | 
“Beast!” he hissed—‘‘beast, and no man! It is 
worse than treachery to be so witless. We may all — 
be shent for thy sotting.” ‘i 
But Lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried — 
to clap young Shelton on the back. } 
And just then Dick’s quick ear caught a rapid brush- | 
ing in the arras.. He leaped towards the sound, and — 
_the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging had been © 
torn down, and Dick and the spy were sprawling to- — 
gether in its folds. Over and over they rolled, grap- © 
pling for each other’s throat, and still baffled by the © 
-arras, and still silent in their deadly fury. But Dick © 
‘was by much the stronger, and soon the spy lay pros- © 
trate under his knee, and, with a single stroke of the © 
Tong poniard, ceased to breathe. q 


‘ CHAPTER III 
‘ THE DEAD SPY 
ee HROUGHOUT this furious and rapid passage, 


all was over, and Dick, already re-arisen to his 
- feet, was listening with the most passionate attention 
to the distant bustle in the lower storeys of the house, 
_ the old outlaw was still wavering on his legs like a 
shrub in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly staring ~ 
on the face of the dead man. 
~ “Tt is well,” said Dick, at length; “they have not 
heard us, praise the saints! But, now, what shall I 
do with this poor spy? At least, I will take my tassel 
from his wallet.”’ , 
_ So saying, Dick opened the wallet; within he found 
a few pieces of money, the tassel, and a letter ad- 
_ dressed to Lord Wensleydale, and sealed with my Lord 
Shoreby’s seal. The name awoke Dick’s recollections; 
and he instantly broke the wax and read the contents 
of the letter. It was short, but, to Dick’s delight, it 
gave evident proof that Lord Shoreby was treacher- 
ously corresponding with the House of York. 
x The young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and 
3 _ Implements about him, and so now, bending a knee 
_ beside the body of the ‘dead spy, he was able to write. 
_ these words upon a corner of the paper: 


My Lord of Shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot yer ie 
a bi pwhy your manisded! But let me rede you, marry not. — 
! JON AMEND-ALL. 


‘He laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and : 


em ie el ee Si a a tana SS ee a ad 


we 


. oe last manceuvres with some flickering returns of in- 
| 178 : 


Lawless had looked on helplessly, and even when 


_ then Lawless, who had been looking on upon these 


174 Pada THE BLACK ARROW 
ioenee: ‘suddenly drew a lnek arrow oe Baise 
his robe, and therewith pinned the paper in its place. — 
The sight of this disrespect, or, as it almost seemed, 
-eruelty to the dead, drew a cry of horror from young 
Shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed. 

“Nay, I will have the credit for mine order,” he 
hiccupped. ‘My jolly boys must have the credit on’t 
—the credit, brother” ; and then, shutting his eyes 


| tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began 
EO thunder, in a formidable voice: 


“Tf ye should drink the clary wine——” 


“Peace, sot!” cried Dick, and thrust him hard 
// against the wall. ‘In two words—if so be that such a 
man can understand me who hath more wine than wit 
in him—in two words, and, a-Mary’s name, begone out 
_ of this house, where, if ye continue to abide, ye will 

not only hang yourself, but me also! Faith, then, up 
foot! be yare, or, by the mass, I may forget that I am 
some sort your captain, and in some your debtor! 

0!” 

The sham monk was now, in some degree, recover- 
| ing the use of his intelligence; and the ring in Dick’s 
voice, and the glitter in Dick’s eye, stamped home the 
meaning of his words. 

“By the mass,” cried Lawless, “an I be not wanted, 
-Iecan go’; and he turned tipsily along the corridor and 
proceeded to flounder downstairs, lurching against 
the wall. 

So soon as he was out of sight, Diek returned to his 
i Taldine Gide resolutely fixed to see the matter out. 
Wisdom, indeed, moved him to be gone; but love and 
-euriosity were stronger. 

‘Time passed slowly for the young man, bolt upright 
behind the arras. The fire in the room ‘began to die 
down, and the lamp to burn low and to smoke. And 
still there was no word of the return of any one to 


these upper quarters of the house; still the faint hum — 


and clatter of the supper party sounded from far 
below; and still, under the thick fall oF ane snow, — 
phareby town lay silent upon bis sine | re 


7 “J > * ‘ a h , 
, if 4% mq - - j . 
¢ ¥ } by ) . . ¥ 


At length, however, feet and voices began to draw 


near upon the stair; and presently after several of Sir | 


Daniel’s guests arrived upon the landing, and turning 


down the corridor, beheld the torn arras and the body 


of the spy. 


Some ran forward and some agi and all together 


began to ery aloud. 


At the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, 


ladies, servants, and, in a word, all the inhabitants of 


THE BLACK ARROW _ V5 


= 


that great house, came flying ‘from every direction, | 


and began to join their voices to the tumult. 


n a way was cleared, and Sir Daniel came forth. je 
in person, followed by the ‘bridegroom of the morrow, — i 


my Lord Shoreby. 


“My lord,” said Sir Daniel, “have I not told you of : ( 
this knave Black Arrow? To the proof, behold it! _ 


There it stands, and, by the rood, my gossip, in 2 man 
of yours, or one that stole your colours} is 


“In good sooth, it was a man of mine,’ > replied Lord 


Shoreby, hanging back. “I would I had more such. 
He was keen as a beagle and secret as a mole.” 


“Ay, gossip, truly?” asked Sir Daniel, keenly. “And 


what came he smelling up so many stairs in my poor : 


mansion? But he will smell no more.’ 
“An ’t please you, Sir Daniel,” said one, “here is a 


paper written upon with some matter, pinned upon his 


breast.” 


“Give it me, arrow and all,” said the knight. And — : 


when he had taken into his ‘hand the shaft, he con- 


tinued for some time to gaze upon it in a sullen mus- 
ing. “Ay,” he said, addressing Lord Shoreby, “here — 


is a hate that followeth hard and close upon my heels. 


This black stick, or its likeness, shall yet bring me : 
down. And, gossip, suffer a plain knight to counsel 


you; and if these hounds begin to wind you, flee! "Tis 


like a sickness—it still hangeth, hangeth upon the ~ 


limbs. But let us see what they have written: It is 


as I thought, my lord; y’ are marked, like an old oak, | : 


by the woodman; to-morrow or next day, by will come 
the axe. But what wrote ye in a letter?” 
Lord Shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, 


ne 16) THE BLACK ARROW _ 


read it, crumpled it between his hands, and, overcom- 
Sine the reluctance which had hitherto withheld him 


_ from approaching, threw himself on his knees beside 
_ the body and eagerly groped in the wallet. 
-  _He rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled coun- 


tenance. 


“Gossip,” he said, “I have indeed lost a letter here 
_ that much imported; and could I lay my hand upon 


the knave that took it, he should incontinently grace 


-ahalter. But let us, first of all, secure the issues of 
the house. Here is enough harm already, by St. 
George!” 

Sentinels were posted close around the house and 
garden; a sentinel on every landing of the stair, a 
whole troop in the main entrance-hall; and yet an- 
other about the bonfire in the shed. Sir Daniel’s fol- 
lowers were supplemented by Lord Shoreby’s; there 
was thus no lack of men or weapons to make the house 


- secure, or to entrap a lurking enemy, should one be 


there. 

Meanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out 
through the falling snow and deposited in the abbey 
church. 

It was not until these dispositions had been taken, 
and ail had returned to a decorous silence, that the 
two girls drew Richard Shelton from his place of con- 


_ cealment, and made a full report to him of what had — 
- passed. He, upon his side, recounted the visit of the 
Spy, his dangerous discovery and speedy end. 


Joanna leaned back very faint against the carte 


wall. 


“Tt will avail but little,” she said. “I shall be wed 
to-morrow, in the morning, after all!’ 

“What!” cried her friend. ‘And here is our paladin 
that driveth lions like mice! Ye have little faith, of 
a surety. But come, friend lion-driver, give us some 
-eomfort; speak and let us hear bold counsels.” 

Dick was confounded to be thus outfaced with his 
own exaggerated words; but though he coloured, he 
still spoke stoutly. 


“Truly,” said he, ‘‘we are in straits. Yet, could I a 


Po oN ENGINES AE at ’ ays) oe db ACA Uitte ey ae be 
« a ie yi ay : q q a a ; iy Ne 
ol ; J : Ms 

: 1 : ; i : 


‘THE BLACK ARROW eee 


He recounted the visit of the spy. 


but win out of this house for half an hour,I do hon 


estly tell myself that all might still go well; and for 
the marriage, it should be prevented.” 
“And for the lions,’ mimicked the girl, “they shall 
be driven.” ; 
“T crave your excuse,” said Dick. “I speak not now 
in any boasting humour, but rather as one inquiring 
after help or counsel; for if I get not forth of this 


house through these sentinels, I can do iess than 


nS En Hye 


y 
AME, 
i Da 


eae le ay THE BLACK _ ARROW ee " | 


Na 


aa natight. ‘Take me, I pray you, rightly.” 


“Why said ye he was rustic, Joan?” the girl m- 
quired, “I warrant he hath a tongue in his head; ready, 
soft, and bold in his speech at pleasure. What would 
ye more tig 
- “Nay,” sighed Joanna, with a smile, “they have — 
changed my friend Dick, *tis. sure enough. When I | 
beheld him, he was rough indeed. But it matters 


little; there is no help for my hard case, and I must 4 


still be Lady Shoreby!’’ 


“Nay, then,” said Dick, ‘I will even make the adil ag 


venture, A friaxsinot much regarded; and ifI found _ 


a good fairy to lead me up, I may find another belike 


to carry me down. How cail they the name of this _ 


spy ! 99 
“Rutter,” said the young lady: “and an excellent 


good name to call him by. But how mean ye, lion- q 


driver? What is in your mind to do?” 
“To offer boldly to go forth,” returned Dick; “and, 
if any stop me, to keep an unchanged countenance, and — 


4 aa 


N 


oH 
i 
M 


‘say I go to pray for Rutter. They will be praying 4 


over his poor clay even now.” 


hi 


“The device is somewhat simple,” replied the girl, a 


| “yet it may hold.” 


“Nay,” said young Shelton, “it is no device, but 


i mere boldness, which serveth often better in great a 


- straits.” 


“Ye say true,” she said. “Well, go, a-Mary’s name. a 


And may Heaven speed you! Ye leave here a poor 


-maaid that loves you entirely, and another that is most a 
heartily your friend. Be wary, for their ‘sakes, and a 


make not shipwreck of your safety.” 

“Ay, added Joanna, “go, Dick. Ye run no more — 
peril, whether ye go or stay. Go; ye take my heart — 
with you; the saints defend you!” ag 


h 
Vy 


Dick passed the first sentry with so assured a coun- _ 


- tenance that the. fellow merely fidgeted and stared 
but at the second landing the man carried his spear 
across and bade him name his business. 
“Pax vobiscum,” answered Dick. “I go to pray ov 
_ the body of this poor Jcieonn / 


“ bd 


THE BLACK ARROW | 179 


“Like enough,” returned the sentry; “but to go 
alone is not permitted you.” He leaned over the oaken 
balusters and whistled shrill. ‘One cometh,” he cried; 
and then motioned Dick to pass. — 

At the foot of the stairs he found the guard afoot - 
and awaiting his arrival; and when he had once more 
repeated his story, the commander of the post ordered 
four men to accompany him to the church. i 

“Let him not slip, my lads,” he said. “Bring himto 
Sir Oliver, on your lives!” i 

The door was then opened; one of the men took 
Dick by either arm, another ‘marched ahead with a 
link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the arrow on 
the string, brought up the rear. In this order they 
proceeded through the garden, under the thick dark- 
ness of the night and the scattering snow, and drew 
near to the dimly-illuminated windows of the abbey ~ 
church. At the western portal a picket of archers stood, — - 
taking what shelter they could find in the hollow of 
the arched doorways, and all powdered with the snow; 


and it was not until Dick’s conductors had exchanged a ~ ‘ 


word with these, that they were suffered to pass forth 
and enter the nave of the sacred edifice. 
The church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers 


upon the great altar, and by a lamp or two that swung 
from the arched roof before the private chapels of 


illustrious families. In the midst of the choir the dead 
spy lay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier. 


A hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the ~ 


arches; cowled figures knelt in the stalls of the choir, 
and on ‘the steps of the high altar a priest in pontifical 
vestments celebrated mass. 


Upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures 3 
arose, and, coming down the steps which elevated the _ 


level of the choir above that of the nave, demanded 
from the leader of the four men what business brought | 
him to the church. Out of respect for the service and 
the dead, they spoke in guarded tones; but the echoes 
of that huge, empty building caught up their words, 
2a hollowly repeated and a them along the 
aisles, 


180 | THE BLACK ARROW 


“A monk!” returned Sir Oliver (for he it was), when 
he had heard the report of the archer. “My brother, 
I looked not for your coming,” he added, turning to 
young Shelton. “In all civility, who are ye? ‘and at 
‘whose instance do ye join your supplications to ours?” 

Dick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to Sir 
Oliver to move a pace or two aside from the archers; 
. and, so soon as the priest had done so, “I cannot hope 
to deceive you, sir,’ he said. “My life is in your 
hands.” ; 

Sir Oliver violently started; his stout cheeks grew 
pale, and for a space he was silent. 

“Richard,” he said, “what brings you here, I know 


not; but I much misdoubt it to be evil. Nevertheless, © 


for the kindness that was, I would not willingly de- 
iver you to harm, Ye shall sit all night beside me in 
the stalls; ye shall sit there till my Lord of Shoreby 
be married, and the party gone safe home; and if all 
goeth well, and ye have planned no evil, in the end 
-ye shall go whither ye will. But if your purpose be 
bloody, it shall return upon your head. Amen!’ 

And the priest devoutly crossed himself, and turned 
and louted to the altar. 

With that, he spoke a few words more to the sol- 
diers, and taking Dick by the hand, led him up to the 
choir, and placed him in the stall beside his own, 


ie where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly to 


kneel and appear to be busy with his devotions. 


His mind and his eyes, however, were continually 


wandering. Three of the soldiers, instead of return- 
ing to the house, had got them quietly into a point 
of vantage in the aisle; and he could not doubt that 
they had done so by Sir Oliver’s command. Here, 
then, he was trapped. Here he must spend the night 
in the ghostly glimmer and shadow of the church, 
and looking on the pale face of him he slew; and here, 
in the morning, he must seé his sweetheart married 
to another man before his eyes. 

But, for all that, he obtained a command upon his 
mind, and built himself up in patience to await the 
issue. 


- ~~ “ 
= = —o 
SS Se 


CHAPTER IV: 
IN THE ABBEY CHURCH 


N Shoreby Abbey Church the prayers were kept | 
] up all night without cessation, now with the sing- 
ing of psalms, now with a note or two upon the 


Rutter, the spy, was nobly waked. There he lay, 
meanwhile, as they had arranged him, his dead hands 
erossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes staring on the 
roof; and hard by, in the stall, the lad who had slain 
him waited, in sore disquietude, the coming of the 
morning. 

Once only, in the course of the hours, Sir Oliver 
leaned ACYOSS to his captive. 

“Richard,” he whispered, “my son, if ye mean me 
evil, I will certify, on my soul’s welfare, ye design 
upon an innocent man. Sinful in the eye of Heaven I 

do declare myself; but sinful against you I am not, 
neither have been ever.” 
_ “My father,” returned Dick, in the same tone of 
voice, “trust me, I design nothing; but as for your in- 
_hocence, I may not forget that ye cleared yourself but 
Jamely.” 
“A man may be innocently guilty,” replied the priest. 
_“He may be set blindfolded upon a mission, ignorant 
; of its true scope. Soit was with me. I did decoy your 
father to his death; but as Heaven sees us in this 
sacred place, I knew not what I did.” 
‘ “Tt may be,” returned Dick, “but see what a strange — 
web ye have woven, that I should be, at this hour, at 
once your prisoner and your judge; that ye should 
‘ both threaten my days and deprecate my anger. Me- 
" thinks, if ye had been all your life a true man and a 
_ Zood priest, ye would neither thus fear nor thus detest _ 


q isl 


eh company.” 


‘ ‘most touched the lad into some sentiment of pity, 
'. and he bowed his head upon his hands like a man / 


put on morning faces, to do honour to the merrier’ 


is ac al, THE BLACK 4 ARROW ee if 


And now to your prayers. I do obuy. ean since 
Teas must ; but I will not be burthened with your 


The priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had al 


borne down below a weight of care. He joined no 
Jonger in the psalms; but Dick could hear the beads © 
rattle through his fingers and the prayers a-pattering | b 
between his teeth. 
Yet a little, and the grey of the morning began to. 
struggle through the painted casements of the church, ~ 
‘and to put to shame the glimmer of the tapers. The 
light slowly broadened and brightened, and presently © 
- through the southeastern clerestories a flush of rosy 
sunlight flickered on the walls. The storm was over; ” 
the great clouds had disburdened their snow and fled — 
farther on, and the new day was breaking on a merry y 
winter landscape sheathed in white. 4 
A bustle of church officers followed; the bier was 
earried forth to the dead-house, and the ‘stains of blood — 
were cleansed from off the tiles, that no such ill 
omened spectacle should disgrace the marriage of Lord. { 
shoreby. At the same time, the very ecclesiastics — 
who had been so dismally engaged all night began to 
- ceremony which was about to follow. And further to. | 
announce the coming of the day, the pious of the town | 
began to assemble and fall to prayer before their 
favourite shrines, or wait their turn at the confes- q 
sionals. ‘ 
Favoured by this stir, it was, of course, easily pos- 
sible for any man to avoid the vigilance of Sir Daniel’s 
sentries at the door; and presently Dick, looking about. ns 
him wearily, caught the eye of no less a person than 
Will Lawless, still in his monk’s habit. 
The outlaw, at the same moment, recognised hil 
_Jeader, and privily signed to him with hand and eye. 
Now, Dick was far from having forgiven the old 
rogue his most untimely drunkenness, but he had no 
desire to involve him i in his own pr edicament; and he 


‘THE BLACK ARROW _ 183 


3 signalled back to him, as plain as he was able, to 
be gone. 

Lawless, as though he had understood, disappeared 

at once behind a pillar, and Dick breathed again. 

: What, then, was his dismay to feel himself plucked 
_ by the sleeve and to find the old robber installed be- 

_ side him, upon the next seat, and, to all appearance, 
plunged in his devotions! 

Instantly Sir Oliver arose from his place, and, glid- 

ing behind the stalls, made for the soldiers in the 
aisle. If the priest’s suspicions had been so lightly 

- wakened, the harm was already done, and Lawless a. 

_ prisoner in the church. 

“Move not,” whispered Dick. “We are in the plagui-- 
est pass, thanks, before all things, to thy swinishness: | 
of yestereven. When ye saw me here, so strangely 

- seated, where I have neither right nor interest, what. 


a murrain! could ye not smell harm and get ye gone : 


from evil?” 
“Nay,” returned Lawless, “I thought ye had heard 
from Ellis, and were here on duty.” 
“Bilis!” echoed Dick, “is Ellis then rehaenel tn 
“For sure,” replied the outlaw. ‘He came last night, 
and belted me sore for being in wine—so there ye are 
avenged, my master. A furious man is Ellis Duck- 
worth! He hath ridden me hot-spur from Craven to 
_ prevent this marriage; and, Master Dick, ye know the 
_ way of him—do so he will!” 
_ “Nay, then,” returned Dick, with composure, “you 
and I, my poor brother, are dead men; for I sit here a © 
prisoner upon suspicion, and my neck was to answer 
for this very marriage that he purposeth to mar. I 
had a fair choice, by the rood; to lose my sweetheart 
or else lose my life! Well, the cast is thrown—it is 
to be my life.” 
“By the mass,” cried Lawless, half rising, “I am 
"gone Ve | 
' But Dick had his hand at once upon his shoulder. — 
_ “Friend Lawless, sit ye still,” he said. “An ye | 
have eyes, look yonder at the corner by the chancel 
oo see ye not that, even upon the motion of your 


| i . 
J ‘ , 
ioe 


CNA SHEA Sa USUARIO GDL RA CSUR RUER AA TURE NS Deni inrdic| 
4 : aX ty ei 7 ah Nain 4 K 
Ea va F } ; chy } i ‘ » f <i ‘ ‘ 


we ‘secular musicians could be descried drawing near overs 


SBN 
tin rae ky 


S “ 


Gani i> BLACK ARROW 


rising, yon armed men are up and ready to intercept — 
you? Yield ye, friend. Ye were bold aboard ship, Ny 
when ye thought to die a sea-death; be bold again, ‘s 
now that y’ are to die presently upon the gallows.” — 
“Master Dick,” gasped. Lawless, “the thing hath 
come upon me somewhat of the suddenest. But give © 
me a moment till I fetch my breath again; and, by the 

_ mass, I will be as stout-hearted as yourself.” 

“Here is my bold fellow!” returned Dick. “And yet, 
Lawless, it goes hard against the grain with me to 
die; but where whining mendeth nothing, wherefore 
whine? “ah 

“Nay, that indeed!” chimed Lawless. ‘‘And a fig | 
for death at worst! It has to be done, my master, © 
soon or late. And hanging in a good quarrel is an © 
\ easy death, they say, though | i could never hear of © 

any that came back to say so.’ i, 

And so saying the stout old rascal leaned back in — 
his stall, folded his arms, and began to look about 
him with the greatest air of insolence and unconcern. 

“And for the matter of that,” Dick added, “it is — 
‘yet our best~chance to keep quiet. We wot not yet — 
what Duckworth purposes; and when all is said, and — 
if the worst befall, we may yet clear our feet of it.” 
| Now that they ceased talking, they were aware of © 

a very distant and thin strain of mirthful music which © 
steadily drew nearer, louder, and merrier. The bells © 
In the tower began to break forth into a doubling peal, — 
and a greater and greater concourse of people to crowd — 
into the church, shuffling the snow from off their © 
feet, and clapping and blowing their hands. The west- | 
ern door was flung wide open, showing a glimpse of © 
sunlit, snowy street, and admitting in a great gust the © 
shrewd air of the morning; and in short, it became | 
_ plain by every sign that Lord Shoreby desired to be a 

married very early in the day, and that the wedding- j 
train was drawing near. bo 
| Some of Lord Shoreby’s men now cleared a passage 4 
down the middle aisle, forcing the people back with — 
lanece-stocks; and just then, outside the portal, the © 


ee 


' discharge, and before the clamour and cries of the 
astounded populace had time to swell fully upon the 


‘THE BLACK ARROW ———=_s1885 


the frozen snow, the fifers and trumpeters scarlet 


cymbalists beating as for a wager. 


These, as they drew near the door of the sacred 


building, filed off on either side, and marking time to 
their own vigorous music, stood stamping in the snow. 
As they thus opened their ranks, the leaders of this 
noble bridal train appeared behind and between them; 


and such was the variety and gaiety of their attire, | 


such the display of silks and velvet, fur and satin, 
embroidery and lace, that the procession showed forth 
upon the snow like a flower-bed in a path or a painted 
window in a wail. 

First came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as win- 
ter, clinging to Sir Daniel’s arm, and attended, as 
bridesmaid, by the short young lady who had be- 
friended Dick the night before. Close behind, in the 
most radiant toilet, followed the bridegroom, halting 
on a gouty foot, and as he passed the threshold of the 
sacred building, and doffed his hat, his bald head was 
seen to be rosy with emotion. 

And now came the hour of Ellis Duckworth. 

Dick, who sat stunned among contrary emotions, 
grasping the desk in front of him, beheld a movement 
in the crowd, people jostling backward, and eyes and 
arms uplifted. Following these signs, he beheld three 
or four men with bent bows, leaning from the clere- 
story gallery. At the same instant they delivered their 


ear, they had flitted from their perch and disappeared. 


The nave was full of swaying heads and voices — ‘ 
Screaming; the ecclesiastics thronged in terror from 


their places; the music ceased, and though the bells 


overhead continued for some seconds to clang upon 


the air, some wind of the disaster seemed to find its 


way at last even to the chamber where the ringers _ 


in the face with lusty blowing, the drummers and the 


were leaping on their ropes, and they also desisted i 


from their merry labours. 


Right in the midst of the nave the bridegroom lay Ve 
_ stone-dead, pierced by two black arrows. The bride 


had fainted. Sir Daniel stood, towering above the _ 


- plood from another which had grazed his brow. 


HA door. 


~~ hour!—blood guilty! Seize him! —bid him be seized! 


He hath sworn our fall.” 


_ eross of Holywood but. he shall rue this hour.” 


_ groan out of thy carcase. Away with him!” he added. 


a ee fs, ae SO i 
aries ne ‘ \ we i a ey ee 

NO A ia Ais Wy? Abs fet 
; 2 es Kate a) 


i erowd in his surprise and anger, a clothyard shaft . 4 
quivering in his left forearm, and his face streaming _ 


Long before any search could be made for them, ie 
the authors of this tragic interruption had clat- — 
tered down a turnpike stair and decamped by a postern- 


But Dick and Lawless still remained in pawn; they — 
had indeed arisen on the first alarm and pushed man- — 
fully to gain the door; but what with the narrowness — 
of the stalls, and the crowding of terrified priests and _ 
choristers, the attempt had been in vain, and they had 
stoically resumed their places. | 

And now, pale with horror, Sir Oliver rose to his — 
_ feet and called upon Sir Daniel, pointing with one hand 

-to Dick. ) ay 
“Here,” he cried, “is Richard Shelton—alas the — 


For all our lives’ sakes, take him and bind him surely! 


Sir Daniel was blinded by anger—blinded by the hot 
blood that still streamed across his face. a, 
“Where?” he bellowed. “Hale him forth! By the 


The crowd fell back, and a party of archers invaded 
the choir, laid rough hands on Dick, dragged him head 
foremost from the stall, and thrust him by the shoul- 
ders down the chancel steps. Lawless, on his part, sat 
as still as a mouse. 
_ Sir Daniel, brushing the blood out of his eyes, stared 
| eae upon his captive. ™ 
pene he said, “treacherous and insolent, I have = 
thee ANNA and by all potent oaths, for every drop of | 
blood that now trickles in mine eyes, I will wring a 


“Here is no place. Off with him to my house. | I will a 
number every joint of thy body with a torture.” ee 
~ But Dick, putting off his captors, uplifted his | 
voice. a: 
“Sanctuary!” he shouted. “Sanctuary! Ho, there, a 


THE BLACK ARROW 187 


| my fathers! They would drag me from the church!” 


“From the church thou hast defiled with murder, 
boy,” added a tall man, magnificently dressed. 
“On what probation?” cried Dick. “They do ac- 


-cuse me, indeed, of some complicity, but have not. 


proved one tittle. I was, in truth, a suitor for this 
damsel’s hand; and she, I will be bold to say, repaid 


‘my suit with favour. But what then? To love a 


maid is no offence, I trow—nay, nor to gain her love. 
In all else, I stand here free from guiltiness.” 
There was a murmur of approval among the by- 


gstanders, so boldly Dick declared his innocence; but — 


at the same time a throng of accusers arose upon the 
other side, crying how he had been found last night 
in Sir Daniel’s house, how he wore a sacrilegious dis- 


guise; and in the midst of the babel, Sir Oliver indi- 
cated Lawless, both by voice and gesture, as accom- — 


plice to the fact. He, in his turn, was dragged from 
his seat and set beside his leader. The feelings of the 


crowd rose high on either side, and while some dragged | 
_the prisoners to and fro to favour their escape, others 


cursed and struck them with their fists. Dick’s ears 


‘rang and his brain swam dizzily, like a man struggling 


ni 


in the eddies of a furious river. 
But the tall man who had already answered Dick, © 


_by a prodigious exercise of voice restored silence and 
order in the mob. 


“Search them,” he said, “for arms. We may so 


judge of their intentions.” 


Upon Dick they found no weapon but his poniard, 


and this told in his favour, until one man officiously 

‘drew it from its sheath, and found it still uncleansed 
of the blood of Rutter. At this there was a great 
shout among Sir Daniel’s followers, which the tall 


man suppressed by a gesture and an imperious glance. 


But when it came to the turn of Lawless, there was 
found under his gown a sheaf of arrows identical with 


those that had been shot. 


“How say ye now?” asked the tall man, frowningly, 


of Di ick, 
| “Sir,” replied Dick, “I am here in sanctuary, is it ° 


a justice. I am here in this man’s custody by mere — 


4) ved Ser. Sn UMD, a tk ik ay LOMO MRT & Bib 4" ¥. ¥ JA 
PS CUIDACLEN DOE PRS PANS RED CM 0 RYAN SI 
ty EOE SS LGR A Sp Re Siyore es Maite ise 


¥ ‘ ai Ait iaha , " * Tees ay ry 
- 5 "1 2 ANE. * ‘ wd : 3. FA ‘Vy, 
LF . / or f yey ‘ tar ME hte Uy SAN HA) 
“yay : kw j ay f BN a yy iy , yi aby en, SVR 
a y . / 1 - \iOs 
/ “ a 
{ i 


188 + ‘THE BLACK ARROW 


not so? Well, sir, I see by your bearing that ye are 
high in station, and I read in your countenance the — 
_marks of piety and justice. To you, then, I will yield — 
me prisoner, and that blithely, foregoing the advant- — 
age of this holy place. But rather than to be yielded 4 
into the discretion of that man—whom I do here ac- ~ 
- cuse with a loud voice to be the murderer of my natural A 
- father and the unjust detainer of my lands and rev- — 
- enues—rather than that, I would beseech you, under — 
favour, with your own gentle hand, to despatch me on — 
the spot. Your own ears have heard him, how before — 
that I was proven guilty he did threaten me with tor- 
ments. It standeth not with your own honour to de- — 
liver me to my sworn enemy and old oppressor, but to 
try me fairly by the way of law, and, if that I be guilty 
indeed, to slay me mercifully.” - 3 
“My lord,” cried Sir Daniel, “ye will not harken to 
this wolf? His bloody dagger reeks him the lie into , 
his face.” ‘| 
“Nay, but suffer me, good knight,” returned the’ i 
tall stranger; “your own vehemence doth somewhat 
tell against yourself.” , 
And here the bride, who had come to herself some ! 
minutes past and looked wildly on upon this scene, i 
broke loose from those that held her, and fell upon hi 
her knees before the last speaker. i 
“My Lord of Risingham,” she cried, “hear me, ing 


force, reft from mine own people. Since that day I - 
had never pity, countenance, nor comfort from the © 
face of man—but from him only—Richard Shelton— — 
whom they now accuse and labour to undo. My lord, 
if he was yesternight in Sir Daniel’s mansion, it was j 
I that brought him there; he came but at my prayer, | 
and thought to do no hurt. While yet Sir Daniel was © 
_ a good lord to him, he fought with them of the Black 7 

Arrow loyally; but when this foul guardian sought his 
life by practices, and he fled by night, for his soul’s: 


—he, helpless and penniless? Or if he be fallen among 
| ill company, whom should ye blame—the lad that was” 


THE BLACK ARROW 189 


unjustly handled, or the guardian that did abuse his 
trust ?’ 

And then the short young lady fell on her knees 
by Joanna’s side. 

“And I, my good lord and natural uncle,” she added, 
“T can bear testimony, on my conscience and before 
the face of all, that what this maiden saith is true. 
It was I, unworthy, that did lead the young man in.” 

Earl Risingham had heard in silence, and when the 
voices ceased, he still stood silent for a space. Then | 
he gave Joanna his hand to arise, though it was to be 
observed that he did not offer the like courtesy to 
her who had ealled herself his niece. , 

“Sir Daniel,” he said, “‘here is a right intricate affair, 
the which, with your good leave, it shall be mine to 
examine and adjust. Content ye, then; your business 
is in careful hands; justice shall be done you; and in 


the meanwhile, get ye incontinently home, and have — 


your hurts attended. The air is shrewd, and I would 
not ye took cold upon these scratches.” 


He made a sign with his hand; it was passed down a 


_ the nave by obsequious servants, who waited upon his 


_archers and men-at-arms, uniformly arrayed in the 


- smallest gesture. Instantly, without the church, a 


tucket sounded shrill, and through the open portal 


colours and wearing the badge of Lord Risingham, 
began to file into the church, took Dick and Lawless 
from those who still detained them, and, closing their 


hi files about the prisoners, marched forth again and dis- 
- appeared. 


As they were passing, Joanna held both her hands — 


i to Dick and cried him her farewell; and the brides- __ 
- maid, nothing downcast by her uncle’s evident dis- 
_ pleasure, blew him a kiss, with a “Keep your heart 


up, lion-driver!” that for the first time since the acci- 


— 
~ 


dent called up a smile to the faces of the crowd, 


= oi 


7 


pe hath but a handful. Alack, if it were but to-morrow— a 
eould I but keep a certain tryst an hour before noon ~ 


he holdeth you right near his heart, both for your 
-own and for your father’s sake; and knowing you 
- guiltless of this fact, he will stir earth and heaven to 


there is no help.” 


CHAPTER V 
EARL RISINGHAM 


ARL RISINGHAM, although by far the most 
important person then in Shoreby, was poorly 
lodged in the house of a private gentleman upon 

the extreme outskirts of the town. Nothing but the 
armed men at the doors, and the mounted messengers 
that kept arriving and departing, announced the tem- 
porary residence of a great lord. 

Thus it was that, from lack of space, Dick and Law- 
less were clapped into the same apartment. 

“Well spoken, Master Richard,” said the outlaw; 
“it was exceedingly well spoken, and, for my part, 
I thank you cordially. Here-we are in good hands; we + 
shall be justly tried, and some time this evening ~ 
decently hanged on the same tree.” “ll 
ey tee, my poor friend, I do believe it,” answered — 

ic 

“Yot we have a string to our bow,” returned Law- 
less. “Ellis Duckworth is a man out of ten thousand; 


bear you clear.” 
“Tt may not be,” said Dick. “What can he do? He 


to-morrow—all were, I think, otherwise. But now Pp 


“Well,” concluded Lawless, “an ye. will stand to it © 


| for my innocence, I will stand to it for yours, and that | 
stoutly. It shall naught avail us; but an I be to 4 


hang, it shall not be for lack of swearing.” 
And then, while Dick gave pate tke over to his re- 


190 


ork Y 
i Ree 
nae 

+} 


He : ; 
ee tw ’ res 
Me ip ei 

ya 


THE BLACK ARROW 191 


Wicking the old rogue curled himself down into a — 
corner, pulled his monkish hood about his face, and | 


composed himself to sleep. Soon he was loudly snor- 
ing, so utterly had his long life of hardship and ad- 
venture blunted the sense of apprehension. 

It was long after noon, and the day was already 
failing, before the door was opened and Dick taken 
forth and led upstairs to where, in a warm cabinet, 


_ Earl Risingham stood over the fire. 


~ 


On his captive’s entrance he looked up. 


“Sir,” he said, “I knew your father, who was aman | yt 


of honour, and this inclineth me to be the more leni-. 
ent; but I may not hide from you that heavy charges 
lie against your character. Ye do consort with mur- 
derers and robbers; upon a clear probation ye have 


earried war against the king’s peace; ye are suspected 


to have piratically seized upon a ship; ye are found 


skulking with a counterfeit presentment in your 


enemy’s house; a man is slain that very evening—” 
“An it like you, my lord,’ Dick interposed, “I will 
at once avow my guilt, such as it is. I slew this fellow 


‘Rutter; and to the proof’—searching in his bosom— 


- “here is a letter from his wallet.” 


»- 
- 


e Bee Pe cae Pee =e 


SE 


Lord Risingham took the letter, and opened and ae 
read it twice. ee be 
“Ye have read this?” he inquired. 
“T have read it,” answered Dick. 
“Are ye for York or Lancaster?” the earl demanded. 
“My lord, it was but a little while back that I was 
asked that question, and knew not how to answer it,” 
said Dick; “but having answered once, I will not vary. 
My lord, I am for York.” 
. The earl nodded approvingly. ; 
“Honestly replied,” he said. “But wherefore, then,. 
deliver me this letter?” . ) 
“Nay, but against traitors, my lord, are not all sides 7 
arrayed?” cried Dick. | 


“T would they were, young gentleman,” ‘patra the ~ i 
earl: “and I do at least approve your saying. Thereis 
‘more youth than guile in you, I do perceive; and were 


not Sir Daniel a mighty man upon our side, I were half 


i} y" 
ie 

ye ie? 
LAE 
oh 
My 
+e 

4 


.. far about.” 


| £0 us of Lancaster. Even in our last reverses he stood — 


192 THE BLACK ARROW 


beniptha to espouse your quarrel. For I have miquived sa) 
and it appears you have been hardly dealt with, and — 
have much excuse. But look ye, sir, I am, before all” \ 
else, a leader in the Queen’s interest; and though by © 


He lowered like an angry lion, and his hand, with a sudden 
movement, clutched at his dagger. i 
nature a just man, as I believe, and leaning even to 


the excess of mercy, yet must I order my goings for 
my party’s interest, and, to keep Sir Daniel, 1 would go : 


_ “My lord,” returned Dick, “ye will think me very . 
bold to counsel you; but do ye count upon Sir Daniel’s _ 
ee Methought he had changed sides intolerably © 
often.” i. 

“Nay, it is the way of England. What would ye 
have?” the earl demanded. “But ye are unjust to the 
knight of Tunstall; and as faith goes, in this unfaith- 
ful generation, he ‘hath of late been honourably true 


; “An it please you, then,” said Dick, “to cast your — 

eye upon this letter, ye might somewhat change your — 
thought of him,” and he handed to the earl Sir Dake , 
iel’s ee to Lord Wensleydale, 


THE BLACK ARROW 193 


The effect upon the earl’s countenance was instant; 
“he lowered like an angry lion, and his hand, with a 
sudden movement, clutched at his dagger. 

' “Ye have read this also?” he asked. 

| “Even so,” said Dick. “It is your. lordship’s own 
estate he offers to Lord Wensleydale.” 

“It is my own estate, even as ye say!” returned the 
Earl. “I am your bedesman for this letter. It hath 
shown me a fox’s hole. Command me, Master Shel- 

‘ton; I will not be backward in gratitude, and to begin 
with, York or Lancaster, true man or thief, I do now 
i set you at freedom. Go, a-Mary’s name! But judge 
it right that I retain and hang your fellow Lawless. 
‘The crime hath been most open, and it were fitting 
that some open punishments should follow.” 

_ “My lord, I make it my first suit to you to spare 
him also,” pleaded Dick. 

“Tt is an old condemned rogue, thief, and vagabond, 

‘Master Shelton,” said the earl. “He hath been gal- 
tdows-ripe this score of years. And, whether for one 
‘thing or another, whether to-morrow or the day after, 
where is the great choice?” 

_ “Yet, my lord, it was through love to me that he 
came hither,” answered Dick, “and I were churlish 
and thankless to desert him.” 

_ “Master Shelton, ye are troublesome,” replied the 
earl, severely. “It is an evil way to prosper in this 
world. Howbeit, and to be quit of your importunity, 
I will once more humour you. Go, then, together; but 
go warily, and get swiftly out of ’Shoreby town. For 
this Sir Daniel (whom may the saints confound!) 
thirsteth most greedily to have your blood.” 

ps “My lord, I do now offer you in words my gratitude, 
trusting at some brief date to pay you some of it in 
me. replied Dick, as he turned from the_apart- 
ment. 


i 


already come. 


one of Sir Daniel’s men caught sight of them an 


- for the open country was to run the risk of the patrok 


they made a straight push for the granary at a run, 
and concealed themselves behind the door among some 


the moon was silvering the frozen snow. Now or neve 


_ where, in the concourse of people, they stood the mo 
imminent peril to be recognized and slain. We. 


- from the house by the beach, now lying dark and sile 
and brought them forth at last by the margin of t 

' harbour. Many of the ships, as they could see by 
_ clear moonshine, had weighed anchor, and, profi 


CHAPTER VI 
ARBLASTER AGAIN , 
EN Dick and Lawless were suffered to ste al, 


by a back way, out of the house where Lord 
Risingham held his garrison, the evening had 


They paused in shelter of the garden wall to consul nile 
on their best course. The danger was extreme. — 


raised the view-hallo, they would be run down and | 
butchered instantly. And not only was the town of 
Shoreby a mere net of peril for their lives, but to make | 


A little way off, upon some open ground, they spie d . 
a windmill standing: and hard by that, a very larg 
granary with open doors. 
. “How if we lay there until the night fall? ” Di 
proposed. } 
And Lawless having no better suggestion to offer, 


straw. The daylight rapidly departed; and presently y ” 
was their opportunity to gain the Goat and Bagpipes ‘a 
unobserved and change their tell-tale garments. Yet 


even then it was advisable to go round by the out- 
skirts, and not run the gauntlet of the market-place 


This course was a long one. It took them not f r 


194 


THE BLACK ARROW 9B 


by the calm sky, proceeded for more distant parts; 
answerable to this, the rude alehouses along the beach 
(although, in defiance of the curfew law, they still 
shone with fire and candle) were no longer thronged 
with customers, and no longer echoed to the chorus 
of sea songs. 
. Hastily, half running, with their monkish raiment 
kilted to the knee, they plunged through the deep 
snow, and threaded the labyrinth of marine lumber; | 
and they were already more than half way round the 


harbour when, as they were passing close before an 


_alehouse, the door suddenly opened and let out a gush 
of light upon their fleeting figures. 
Instantly they stopped, and made believe to be en- 
gaged in earnest conversation. : 
Three men, one after another, came out of the ale- 
house, and the last closed the door behind him. All 
three were unsteady upon their feet, as if they had 
passed the day in deep potations, and they now stood 
wavering in the moonlight, like men who knew not — 
what they would be after. The tallest of the three 
was talking i in a loud, lamentable voice. 
_ “Seven pieces of as good Gascony as ever a _tapster 


broached, ” he was saying, “the best ship out o’ the — 


port o’ Dartmouth, a Virgin Mary parcel-gilt, thirteen 
! pounds of good gold money m 
-  “T have had losses, too,” interrupted one of the 
‘others. “I have had losses of mine own, gossip Ar- 
blaster. I was robbed at Martinmas of five shillings 
and a leather wallet well worth ninepence farthing.” 


Wickis (hedrt snidte him at what he heard: | Uo 


that moment he had not perhaps thought twice of the 


poor skipper who had been ruined by the loss of the | ny y 


Good Hope; so careless, in those days, were men who 
wore arms of the goods and interests of their infer- 
iors. But this sudden encounter reminded him sharply 
of the high-handed manner and ill ending of his enter- 


prise; and both he and Lawless turned their heads the © " : 


other way, to avoid the chance of recognition. 
The ship’s dog had, however, made his escape from 
‘the wreck and found his way back again to Shoreby. 


- gilt, and thirteen pounds in gold and silver. Hey! what ~ 


_ him, took to his heels among the lumber. 


196 «=3=)—~*é«UT'#HED- BLACK. ARROW 


- He was now at Arblaster’s heels, and suddenly sniffing © 
and pricking his ears, he darted forward and bere q 
to bark furiously at the two sham friars. a 
His master unsteadily followed him. ‘ 
‘Hey, shipmates!”’ he cried. “Have ye ever a penny q 
piece for a poor old shipman, clean destroyed by pi- q 
rates? I am a man that would have paid for you both ~ 
o’ Thursday morning; and now here I be o’ Saturday * 4 
night, begging for a flagon of ale! Ask my man Tom, 
if ye misdoubt me. Seven pieces of good Gascon wine, — 
a ship that was mine own, and was my father’s be- © 
fore me, a Blessed Mary of plane-tree wood and parcel- © 


say ye? A man that fought the French, too; for I — 
have fought the French; I have cut more French. , 
throats upon the high seas than ever a man that sails 4 
out of Dartmouth. Come, a penny piece.” 4 

Neither Dick nor Lawless durst answer him a word, j 
lest he should recognize their voices; and they stood , 
as helpless as a ship ashore, not knowing where to © 
turn nor what to hope. q 

“Are ye dumb, boy?” inquired the skipper. “Mates,” — 
he added, with a hiccup, “they be dumb. I like not © 
this manner of discourtesy; for an a man be dumb, © 
so be as he’s courteous, he will still speak when he was i 
spoken to, methinks.” 4 

By this time the sailor, Toni, who was a man of 4 
great personal strength, seemed to have conceived ¥ 
‘some suspicion of these two speechless figures; and — 
being soberer than his captain, stepped suddenly be-— 
fore him, took Lawless roughly by the shoulder, and 
asked him, with an oath, what ailed him that he held © 
his tongue. To this the outlaw, thinking all was over, — 
made answer by a wrestling feint that stretched the 
sailor on the sand, and, calling upon Dick to follow : 


The affair passed in a second. Before Dick could © 
run at all, Arblaster had him in his arms; Tom, crawl- 
ing on his face, had caught him by one foot, and the > 

us man had a drawn cutlass brandishing above bi 


THE BLACK ARROW 197 


: It was not so much the danger, it was not so much 
the annoyance, that now bowed down the spirits of 
pyoung Shelton; it was the profound humiliation to 
have escaped Sir Daniel, convinced Lord Risingham, 
and now fall helpless in the hands of this old drunken 
sailor; and not merely helpless, but, as his conscience 
-joudly told him when it was too late, actually guilty 
_—actually the bankrupt debtor of the man whose ship 
he had stolen and lost. 
ie “Bring me him back into the alehouse, till I see his 
y face,” said Arblaster. 
- “Nay, nay,” returned Tom; “but let us first unload 
“his wallet, lest the other lads ery share.” 
i But though he was searched from head to foot, not 
-apenny was found upon him; nothing but Lord Fox- 
_ham’s signet, which they plucked savagely from his 
t finger. ' 
_ “Turn me him to the moon,” said the skipper; and . 
i taking Dick by the chin, he cruelly jerked his head into 
i, the air. “Blessed Virgin!” he cried, “‘it is the pirate.” 
me Hey!” cried Tom. 
% “By the Virgin of Bordeaux, it is the man himself!” 
_ repeated Arblaster. “What, sea-thief, do I hold you?” 
he cried. “Where is my ship? Where is my wine? 
Hey! have I you in my hands? Tom, give me one end 
of a cord here, I will so truss me this sea-thief, hand 
_and foot together, like a basting turkey—marry, I will 
| ae bind him up—and thereafter I will so beat—so beat 
im!’ 
_ And so he ran on, winding the cord meanwhile about 
Dick’s limbs with the dexterity peculiar to seamen, 
and at every turn and cross securing it with a knot, and 
tightening the whole fabric with a savage pull. 
4 When he had done, the lad was a mere package in 
his hands—as helpless as the dead. The skipper held 
him at arm’s length, and laughed aloud. Then he 
fetched him a stunning buffet on the ear; and then 
turned him about, and furiously kicked and kicked — 
“him. Anger rose up in Dick’s bosom like a storm; 
anger strangled him, and he thought to have died; 
but when the sailor, tired of this cruel play, dropped 


4 ’ 
iy 4 


Diese ‘THE BLACK ARROW ale ata 


him all iG length upon the send and turned to Sonat ; 
with his companions, he instantly regained command 
of his temper. Here was a momentary respite; ere 
they began again to torture him, he might have found i 
some method to escape from this degrading and fatal | 
misadventure. r 
Presently, sure enough, and while his captors were 

_ still discussing what to do with him, he took heart 
‘of grace, and, with a pretty steady voice, addressed 
‘them. 
. “My masters,” he began, “are ye gone clean foolish’ 
Here hath Heaven put into your hand as pretty an 
occasion to grow rich as ever shipman had—such as 
ye might make thirty over-sea adventures and not | 
find again—and, by the mass! what do ye? Beat me? 
nay; so would an angry child. But for long-headed 
 tarry-Johns, that fear not fire nor water, and that love 
- gold as they love beef, methinks ye are not wise.” ‘ 
SAY, ” said Tom, “now y’ are trussed ye would cozen 
us.” 
“Cozen you!” repeated Dick. ‘‘Nay, if ye be foolal ; 
it would be easy. But if ye be shrewd fellows, as I 
trow ye are, ye can see plainly where your interests 
lie. When I took your ship from you, we were many, 
we were well clad and armed; but now, bethink you a 
little, who mustered that array ? One incontestably 
that hath made much gold. And if he, being already 
rich, continueth to hunt after more even in the face | 
of storms—bethink you once more—shall there not 
be a treasure somewhere hidden?” 4 
“What meaneth he?” asked one of the men. ¥ 
“Why, if ye have lost an old skiff and a few jugs of 
vinegary wine,” continued Dick, “forget them, for the 
trash they are; and do ye rather buckle to.an adven-_ 
ture worth the name, that shall, in twelve hours, make 2 
or mar you for ever. But take me up from where I 
jie, and let us go somewhere near at hand and tall “ 
- across a flagon, for I am sore and frozen, and my 
mouth is half among the snow.” 
“He seeks to cozen us,’ said’ Tom, contemptuous 
“Cozen! cozen!” cried the third man, “I woul 


‘THE BLACK ARROW ——=*OLS 
~ could see the man that could cozen me! He were a 


- can see a church when it hath a steeple on it; and for 
_ my part, gossip Arblaster, methinks there is some 
sense in this young man. Shall we go hear him indeed? 
i Say, shall we go hear him?” 
_ _ “TI would look gladly on a pottle of strong ale, good 
’ ‘Master Pirret,’ returned Arblaster. “How say ye, 
Tom? But then the wallet is empty.” 
“I will pay,” said the other, “I will pay. I would — 
. fain see this matter out; I do believe, upon my con- 
4 science, there is gold in it. iu | 
r “Nay, if ye get again to drinking, all is lost!’ cried 
om. 
4 “Gossip Arblaster, ye suffer your fellow to have too 
‘’ much liberty,’ returned Master Pirret. “Would ye 
be led by a hired man? Fry, fy!” 
“Peace, fellow!” said Ronee addressing Tom. 


ee 


ae 


- cozener indeed! Nay, I was not born yesterday. I 


«will ye put your oarin? Truly a fine pass, when the ay 


‘ crew is to correct the skipper!” | 
4 “Well, then, go your way,” said Tom; “I wash my 
Bnends of you.” 


«gy know a privy ‘place where we may drink and dis- 
aes 
“If I am to walk, my friends, ye must set my feet at 
- liberty,” said Dick, when he had been once more 
planted upright like a post. 
» “He saith true,” laughed Pirret. “Truly, he could 
‘not walk accoutred as he is. Give it a slit—out with 
»your knife and slit it, gossip.” 
| Even Arblaster paused at this proposal; but as his 


aS 


“Set him, then, upon his feet,” said Master Pirret. na 


companion continued to insist, and Dick had the sense : Oa 


and only shrugged his shoulders over the delay, the 


can keep the merest wooden indifference of expression, 
am 


‘skipper consented at last, and cut the cords which tied 


ay prisoner’s feet and legs. Not only did this enable i i 
Dick to ‘walk, but the whole network of his bonds 


a being proportionately loosened, he felt the arm behind 


his back begin to move more ‘freely, and could hope, © gr 


_ with time and trouble,.to entirely disengage it.. So 


CER ALD SUC SOREN WDD ATA Pi AR Toe CAR Sa ORR a re one ee 
? i i t > ea . , yy 4 y! i ; ae ¥ i re 
c \ , " >! e 9 . he HF 


Ou 20 THE BLACK oe 


"much he owed already to the owlish silliness and tree ;, 
of Master Pirret. , E 
That worthy now assumed the lead, and conducted — 
them to the very same rude alehouse where Lawless 
had taken Arblaster on the day of the gale. It was” 
now quite deserted; the fire was a pile of red embers, © 
radiating the most ardent heat; and when they had 
chosen their places, and the landlord had set before 
them a measure of mulled ale, both Pirret and Ar-~ 
blaster stretched forth their legs and squared their — 
elbows like men bent upon a pleasant hour. f 
The table at which they sat, like all the others in the 
alehouse, consisted of a heavy, square board, set on a ~ 
pair of barrels; and each of the four curiously assorted — 
cronies sat at one side of the square, Pirret facing — 
Arblaster, and Dick opposite to the common sailor. 
“And now, young man,” said Pirret, “to your tale. 

It doth appear, indeed, that ye have somewhat abused — 
our gossip Arblaster; ‘but what then? Make it up to- 
him—show him but this chance to become wealthy—_ 
and I will go pledge he will forgive you.” 4 
So far Dick had spoken pretty much at random; — 
but it was now necessary, under the supervision of six 
eyes, to invent and tell some marvellous story, and, 
if it were possible, get back into his hands the all- | 
important signet. To squander time was the first ne-— 
cessity. The longer his stay lasted, the more would ” 
-his captors drink, and the surer should he be when he 
attempted his escape. § 
Well, Dick was not much of an inventor, and what 
he told was pretty much the tale of Ali Baba, with © 
Shoreby and Tunstall Forest substituted for the East a 
and the treasures of the cavern rather exaggerated 
than diminished. As the reader is aware, it is an ex- 
cellent story, and has but one drawback—that it is not 
- true; and so as these three simple shipmen now heard 
at for the first time, their eyes stood out of their faces, 
and their mouths gaped like codfish at a fishmonger’s. 
Pretty soon a second measure of mulled ale was 
called for; and while Dick was artfully spinning out 
the incidents a third followed es second. ae 


whe 


THE BLACK ARROW f 201 | 


ean was the position of the parties towards the 
en 

Arblaster, three-parts drunk and one-half asleep, 
hung helpless on his stool. Even Tom had been much 
delighted with the tale, and his vigilance had abated 
in proportion. Meanwhile, Dick had gradually wormed 
his right arm clear of its bonds, and was ready to 
risk all. . 

“And so,” said Pirret, “y’ are one of these?” 

“I was made so,” replied Dick, “against my will; but 
' anI could but get a sack or two of gold coin to my 

_ share, I should be a fool indeed to continue dwelling in 
- a filthy cave, and standing shot and buffet like a sol- 
dier. Here be we four; good! Let us, then, go forth 
into the forest to-morrow ere the sun be up. Could 
_ we come honestly by a donkey, it were better; but an 
_ we cannot, we have our four strong backs and I war- 
rant me we shall come home staggering.” 

Pirret licked his lips. af 

“And this magic,” he said—‘“this password, whereby | 
the cave is opened—how call ye it, friend ?” A 

“Nay, none know the word but the three chiefs,” — 
_ returned Dick; “but here is your great good fortune, © 
that, on this very evening, I should be the bearer of a 


year beyond the captain’s wallet.” 
“A spell!” said Arblaster, half awakening, and 


a spells! I be a good Christian. Ask my man Tom, 
else.” 


- naught with the devil; only the powers of numbers, 
herbs, and planets.” 

\ “Ay, ay,” said Pirret; “’tis but white magic, gossip. 
_ There is no sin therein, I do assure you. But pro- 
‘3 Es, ,Z0od youth. This spell—in what should it con- 


aN ay, that I will incontinently show you,’ ’ answered 
- Dick. “Have ye there the ring ye took from my 
finger? Good! Now hold it forth before you by the 


spell to open it. It is a thing not trusted twice a 
squinting upon Dick with one eye. “Aroint thee! no ~ 


“Nay, but this is white magic,” said Dick. “It doth 


. extreme finger-ends, at the arm’s length, and over © 


| i cnet the AGhnte of these euiheral, Tis 80 exactly 


clear between him and the door. He put up an in- 
_ ternal prayer. Then whipping forth his arms, he 
~ made but one snatch of the ring, and at the same in-_ A 
'.. gtant, levering up the table, he sent it bodily over upon — 


- under the ruins; and before Arblaster understood that © 
the moonlit night. 


. ground about the harbour bright as day; and young ~ 
Shelton leaping, with kilted robe, among the lumber © 4 
Was a conspicuous figure from afar. 


. he drew near the entrance of a narrow lane, he even - 
; _s Paused and looked laughingly behind him. | 


-$Shoreby came clustering in an inky mass, and tailing — 4 
- out rearward in isolated clumps. Every man was | 


; with both arms in air; some one was continually fall- | 
‘Ing; and to complete. the picture, when one fell, a 
dozen would fail upon the top of him. 

"I high as to the moon was partly comical and partly © 


In the port could run him down. But the mere vol- 
ume of noise, in so far as it must awake all the sleepers” 


ve tala, So, spying a dark doorway at a corner; he 


pa 


“THE BLACK ARROW | 
i 


‘a 


Thus, then, is the spell.” 
With a haggard glance, Dick saw the coast. was 


the seaman Tom. He, poor soul, went down bawinean A 


anything was wrong, or Pirret could collect his daz- © ; 
zled wits, Dick had run to the door and escaped into © 

The moon, which now rode in the mid-heavens, and — | 
the extreme whiteness of the snow, made the open q 


Tom and Pirret followed him with shouts; from | 
every drinking-shop they were joined by others whom | 
their’ cries aroused; and presently a whole fleet of sail- — 
ors was in full pursuit. But Jack ashore was a bad — 
runner, even in the fifteenth century, and Dick, be- © 
sides, had a start, which he rapidly improved, until, as J 


Upon the white floor of snow, all the shipmen of 
shouting or screaming ; every man was gesticulating © 
The confused mass of sound which they rolled up as. q 
terrifying to the fugitive whom they were hunting 


In itself, it was impotent, for he made sure no seaman ° 


in Shoreby, and bring all the skulking sentries to the 
street, did really threaten him with danger in the | 


> 
, er 


THE BLACK ARROW 208 


whipped briskly into it, and let the uncouth hunt go 
by him, still shouting and gesticulating, and all red mi 
with hurry, and white with tumbles in the snow. — 


It was a long while, indeed, before this great inva- a 
sion of the town by the harbour came to an end, andit 


was long before silence was restored. For long, lost is 
sailors were still to be heard pounding and shouting ~ 


through the streets in all directions and in every quar- 
ter of the town. Quarrels followed, sometimes among 
themselves, sometimes with the men of the patrols; 
knives were drawn, blows given and received, and more 
than one dead body remained behind upon the snow. 

When, a full hour later, the last. seaman returned _ 
grumblingly to the harbour side and his particular tay- 
ern, it may fairly be questioned if he had ever known 
what manner of man he was pursuing, but it was ab- 


solutely sure that he had now forgotten. By next. 
morning there were many strange stories flying; and — 
a little while after, the legend of the devil’s nocturnal _ 
visit was an article of faith with all the lads of 


Shoreby. 


‘iis But the return of the last seaman did not, even yet, 
- set free young Shelton from his cold imprisonment APE Hi 


the doorway. 


For some time after there was a great activity of 
patrols; and special parties came forth to make the 
round of the place and report to one or other of the. $ 
- great lords, whose slumbers had been thus unusually o 


broken. 


The night was already well spent before Dick ven-. ae 


tured from his hiding-place and came, safe and sound, 


but aching with cold and bruises, to the door of the a 


Goat and Bagpipes. As the law required, there was 
neither fire nor candle in the house; but he groped his ~ 
way into a corner of the icy guest-room, found anend 


_of a blanket, which he hitched around his shoulders, 
_ and creeping close to the nearest sleeper, was soon lost we 
in slumber, 


Ais) MA 


BOOK V 


CROOK BACK 
CHAPTER I 
THE SHRILL TRUMPET 


ERY early the next morning, before the first 

peep of the day, Dick arose, changed his gar- 

ments, armed himself once more like a gentle- 
man, and set forth for Lawless’s den in the forest. 
There, it will be remembered, he had left Lord Fox- 
ham’s papers; and to get these and be back in time for 
_ the tryst with the young Duke of. Gloucester could 
only be managed by an early start, and the most vigor- 
ous walking. 

The frost was more rigorous than ever; the air 
windless and dry, and stinging to the nostril. The 
moon had gone down, but the stars were still bright 
and numerous, and the reflection from the snow was 
clear and cheerful. There was no need for a lamp 
to walk by; nor, in that still but ringing air, the least 
temptation to delay. 

Dick had crossed the greater part of the open 
ground between Shoreby and the forest, and had 
reached the bottom of the little hill, some hundred ~— 
yards below the Cross of St. Bride, when through the — 
stillness of the black morn, there rang forth the note 
of a trumpet, so shrill, clear, and piercing, that he — 
thought he had never heard the match of it for audi- — 
bility. It was blown once, and then hurriedly a sec- — 
ond time; and then the clash of steel succeeded. of 

At this young Shelton pricked his ears, and draw- — 
_ ing his sword, ran forward up the hill. Dt 

Presently he came in sight of the cross, and was — 
aware of a most fierce encounter raging on the road be- 
fore it. There were seven or eight assailants, and but — 
one to keep head against them; but so active and — 
dexterous was this one, so desperately did he charge af | 


204 


5 
>to a 
Sh See 
mah Tz 
at <= sees 7 
} ean eg oe 
» . . Si VP ee Ae 
eee eg ee = 


4 
aM 
” 


THE BLACK ARROW 205. 


and scatter his opponents, so deftly keep his footing 
on the ice, that already, before Dick could intervene, 
he had slain one, wounded another, and kept the whole — 
in check. | 
Still it was by a miracle that he continued his de- 
fence, and at any moment, any accident, the least slip 
of foot or error of hand, his life would be a forfeit. 
“Hold ye well, sir! Here is help!” cried Richard; 
and forgetting that he was alone, and that the cry was 
somewhat irregular; “To the Arrow! to the Arrow!” 
he shouted, as he fell upon the rear of the assailants. 
These were stout fellows also, for they gave not an 
inch at his surprise, but faced about, and fell with 
astonishing fury upon Dick. Four against one, the 


steel flashed about him in the starlight: the sparks — 


flew fiercely; one of the men opposed to him fell— 
in the stir of the fight he hardly knew why; then he 
himself was struck across the head, and though the 
steel cap below his hood protected him, the blow beat. 
him down upon one knee, with a brain whirling like a 
windmill sail. 

Meanwhile the man whom he had come to rescue, 
instead of joining in the conflict, had, on the first sign 
of intervention, leaped aback and blown again, and yet 
more urgently and loudly, on that same shrill-voiced 
trumpet that began the alarm. Next moment, indeed, 


his foes were on him, and he was once more charging _ 


and fleeing, leaping, stabbing, dropping to his knee, and 
using indifferently sword and dagger, foot and 
hand, with the same unshaken courage and feverish 
energy and speed. 


But that ear-piercing summons had been heard at _ 


last. There was a muffled rushing in the snow; and,- 


in a good hour for Dick, who saw the sword-points _ 


glitter already at his throat, there poured forth out of 


- the wood upon both sides a disorderly torrent of © 
mounted men-at-arms, each cased in iron, and with © 


visor lowered, each bearing his lance in rest, or his ~ 
sword bared and raised, and each carrying, so to © 
speak, a passenger, in the shape of an archer or page, 
who leaped one after another from their perches, and ~ 


_ a word, 


THE BLACK ARROW | 


he tod ie Houbied he array. | 
, The original assailants, seeing themselves outnum-_ 
bered and surrounded, threw down their arms without 


“Seize me these fellows!” said the hero of the © 


ind trumpet; and when his order had been obeyed, he 4 


H _ drew near to Dick and looked him in the face. 


ie formed, with one shoulder higher than the other, and 


a longer than they did.” 


ne rant of whom I speak with.” 


| not to bear him aid.” 


Dick, returning this scrutiny, was surprised to find © 4 
in one who had displayed such strength, skill, and 
energy, a lad no older than himself—slightly de- 


of a pale, painful, and distorted countenance.* The ~ 
eyes, however, were very clear and bold. | 
“Sir,” said this Jad, “ve came in good time for me, | 
“and none too early.” 
_ “My lord,” returned Dick, with a faint sense that 
he was in the presence of a great personage, “‘ye are 
yourself so marvellous a good swordsman that I be- 
lieve ye had managed them single-handed. Howbeit, 
it was certainly well for me that your men delayed no 


“How knew ye who I was? 2?” demanded the stranger. 
“Even now, my lord,” Dick answered, ‘I am igno- — 


t “Is it so?” asked the other. “And yet ye threw 
- yourself head first into this unequal battle.” 

_ “TI saw one man valiantly contending against many,” 
replied Dick, ‘and I had thought myself dishonoured © 


is A singular sneer played about the young nobleman’ Ss | 
~ mouth as he made answer: sh 
“These are very brave words. But to the more es- 
- gential—are ye Lancaster or York?’ ' 
. “My lord, I make no secret; I am clear for ae OF Kr age 
Baie answered, : 
: _ “By the mass!” replied the other, “it is well for you.” 
_ And so saying, he turned towards one of his follow. et 
ers. , 
“Let me see,” he continued, in the same sneering Ng 


eer: *Richard Crookback would have eee really far YOURE, at he 
is iva date,” 


THE BLACK ARROW 207 


and cruel tones—‘Iet me see a clean end of these 
brave gentlemen. Truss me them up.” f 
There were but five survivors of the attacking party. i 
‘Archers seized them by the arms; they were 2urried © 
to the borders of the wood, and each placea oelow a _ 
tree of suitable dimensions; the rope was adjusted; — 
M an archer, carrying the end of it, hastily clambered | 
i overhead, and before a minute was over, ond without — 
a a word passing upon either hand, the five men were 
e swinging by the neck. oe 
| “And now,” cried the deformed leader, “back to — 
your posts, and when I summon you next, be readier — 
‘tp to attend.” ui 
( “My lord duke,” said one man, “‘beseech you, tarry 
a ie eo alone. Keep but a handful of lances at your 
if and.” yn 
“Fellow,” said the duke, “I have forborne to chide — 

you for your slowness. Cross me not, therefore. I 

trust my hand and arm, for all that I be crooked. Ye > 

were backward when the trumpet sounded: and ye are) 

now too forward with your counsels. But it is ever . 

so; last with the lance and first with tongue. Let it y 

be reversed.” uh 

And with a gesture that was not without a sort of , 
dangerous nobility, he waved them off. ak 

| The footmen climbed again to their seats behind the 2 
men-at-arms, and the whole party moved slowly away | 

and disappeared in twenty different directions, under © 

the cover of the forest. eo 

The day was by this time beginning to break, and — 

the stars to fade. The first grey glimmer of dawn A 
shone upon the countenances of the two young men, — 

| who now turned once more to face each other. ah 
“Here,” said the duke, “ye have seen my vengeance, — 
_ which is, like my blade, both sharp and ready. But I 
would not have you, for all Christendom, suppose me © 

b thankless. You that came to my aid with a good — 
it sword and a better courage—unless that ye recoil 
from my misshapenness—come to my heart.” | i 

And so saying the young leader held out his arms 
for an embrace. We 


= 


208 ‘THE BLACK ARROW 


In the bottom of his heart Dick already entertained 
a great terror and some hatred for the man whom 
he had rescued; but the invitation was so worded that 
- it would not have been merely discourteous, but cruel, 
- to refuse or hesitate, and he hastened to comply. 
“And now, my lord duke,” he said, when he had re- 
- gained his freedom, “‘do I suppose aright? Are ye my 
_ Lord Duke of Gloucester?” 
“IT am Richard of Gloucester,” returned the other. 
“And you—how call they you?” 
Dick told him his name and presented Lord Fox- 
_ham’s signet, which the duke immediately recognized. 
~ “Ye come too soon,” he said; “but why should I 
complain? Ye are like me, that was here at watch 


two hours before the day. But this is the first sally 


of mine arms; upon this adventure, Master Shelton, 
-ghall I make or mar the quality of my renown. There 
lie mine enemies, under two old, skilled captains, Ris- 
ingham and Brackley, well posted for strength, I do 
- believe, but yet upon two sides without retreat, en- 
closed betwixt the sea, the harbour, and the river. 
Methinks, Shelton, here were a great blow to be 
stricken, an we could strike it silently and suddenly.” 
“I do think so, indeed,” cried Dick, warming. 
4 peeve ye my Lord Foxham’s notes?” inquired the 
uke 
And then Dick, having explained how he was with- 
out them for the moment, made himself bold to offer 
information every jot as good, of his own knowledge. 
“And for mine own part, my lord duke,” he added, 
“an ye had men enough, I would fall on even at this 
present. For, look ye, at the peep of day the watches 


- of the night are over; but by day they keep neither 


watch nor ward—only scour the outskirts with horse- 
' men. Now, then, when the night-watch is already 
unarmed, and the rest are at their morning cup—now 
were the time to break them.” 

“How many do ye count?” asked Gloucester. 
“They number not two thousand,” Dick replied. 
*T have seven hundred in the woods behind us,” 
said the duke; “seven hundred follow from Kettley, 


tile le el on ee 
<e 


THE BLACK ARROW 209 


and will be here anon; behind these, and farther, are 
four hundred more; and my Lord Foxham hath five — 
hundred half a day from here, at Holywood. Shall 
we attend their coming, or fall on?” 

“My lord,” said Dick, ‘‘when ye hanged these five 
poor rogues ye did decide the question. Churls al- 
though they were, in these uneasy times they will be 
lacked and looked for, and the alarm be given. There- 
fore, my lord, if ye do count upon the advantage of a 
surprise, ye have not, in my poor opinion, one whole 
hour in front of you.” 

“I do think so, indeed,” returned Crookback. “Well, 
before an hour, ye shall be in the thick on’t, winning 
spurs. A swift man to Holywood, carrying Lord Fox- 
ham’s signet; another along the road to speed my 
laggards! Nay, Shelton, by the rood, it may be done!” — 

Therewith he once more set his trumpet to his lips | 
and blew. ‘f 

This time he was not long kept waiting. In a mo- 
ment the open space about the cross was filled with 
horse and foot. Richard of Gloucester took his place 
upon the steps, and despatched messenger after mes- 
senger to hasten the concentration of the seven hun- 
dred men that lay hidden in the immediate neighbour- 
hood among the woods; and before a quarter of an 
hour had passed, all his dispositions being taken, he 
put himself at their head, and began to move down the 
hill towards Shoreby. | 

His plan was simple. He was to seize a quarter of 
the town of Shoreby lying on the right hand of the 
high road, and make his position good there in the 
narrow lanes until his reinforcements followed. : 

If Lord Risingham chose to retreat, Richard would — 


follow upon his rear, and take him between two fires; _ 


or, if he preferred to hold the town he would be shut 


in a trap, there to be gradually overwhelmed by force - | 


of numbers. 

There was but one danger, but that was imminent — 
and great—Gloucester’ s seven hundred might be rolled — 
up and cut to pieces in the first encounter, and, to avoid 


_ this, it was needful to make the surprise of their ar- 


- ruddy gables, was rolling up its columns of morning 


dead and be unheard of. Two Richards are we. Well 


20s THE BLACK ¢ ARROW 


a cal as Waorplete as possible. 
The footmen, therefore, were all once more taken 
- up behind the riders, and Dick had the signal honour 

- meted out to him of mounting behind Gloucester him- 
self. For as far as there was any cover the troops 
moved slowly, and when they came near the end of 
. the trees that lined the highway, stopped to breathe 
and reconnoitre. 
~The sun was now well up, shining with a frosty 
brightness out of a yellow halo, and right over against 
_. the luminary, Shoreby, a field of snowy roofs and 


‘smoke. 
Gloucester turned round to Dick. 
“In that poor place,’ he said, ‘where people are 
a cooking breakfast, either you shall gain your spurs 
- and I begin a life of mighty honour and glory-in the, 
- world’s eye, or both of us, as I conceive it, shall fall 


_ then, Richard Shelton, they shall be heard about, these 
two! Their swords shall not ring more loudly on 
i men’s helmets than their names shall ring in people’s 
ears.’ 
_ Dick was astonished at so great a hunger after fame, 
haste expressed with so great vehemence of voice and lan- 
guage; and he answered very sensibly and quietly that, 
Ha 4) a his part, he promised he would do his duty, and 
us doubted not of victory if everyone did the like. 
By this time the horses were well breathed, and the 
! Panes holding up his sword and giving rein, the whole 
_ troop of chargers broke into the gallop and thundered, 
with their double load of fighting men, down the re- 
- mainder of the hill and across the snow-covered plain 
_ that still divided them from Shoreby. 


CHAPTER II 
THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY 


‘ HE whole distance to be crossed was not above a — 
3 quarter of a mile. But they had no sooner de- 
r bouched beyond the cover of the trees than they _ 
j were aware of people fleeing and\screaming in the 
_ snowy meadows upon either hand. Almost at the same) 


4 moment a great rumour began to arise, and spread 
and grow continually louder in the town: and they 
were not yet half way to the nearest house before the 
bells began to ring backward from the steeple. 


' enemies prepared; and if he failed to gain a footing in 
_ the town, he knew that his small party would soon be 
' broken and exterminated in the open. 


In the town, however, the Lancastrians were far — 


said. The night-guard had already doffed their har- 
- ness; the rest were still hanging—unlatched, unbraced, 
4 all unprepared for battle—about their quarters; and 
in the whole of Shoreby there were not, perhaps, fifty 


} 
‘ 
_ from being in so good a posture. It was as Dick had 
i 


_ ™men full armed, or fifty chargers ready to be mounted. 
The beating of the bells, the terrifying summons of | 


‘ men who ran about the streets erying and beating 


_ upon the doors, aroused in an incredibly short space at 


The young duke ground his teeth together. By : 
; these so early signals of alarm he feared to find his | 


: least two score out of that half hundred. These got 


é ‘speedily to horse, and, the alarm still flying wild and aa 


‘J contrary, galloped in different directions. 


Thus it befell that, when Richard of Gloucester’ : 
‘ reached the first house of Shoreby, he was met in the eA 
~ mouth of the street by a mere handful of lances, whom A leie 


is he swept before his onset as the storm chases the lark, 


211 


A hundred paces into the town, Dick Shelton touched — ; th 


of Dick, Richard of Gloucester had now seized, con- — 


streets. 


ORS AGUIAR NO an ay ae nahh CREPE 
’ ; Vey Ney A, fil at Regn 
4 ! pom’ 


212, ‘THE BLACK ARROW archi) 


the duke’s arm: the duke, in answer, gathered his : 


reins, put the shrill trumpet to his mouth, and blow- 

ing a concerted point, turned to the right hand out — 
of the direct advance. Swerving like a single rider, — 
his whole command turned after him, and, still at 
the full gallop of the chargers, swept up the narrow ~ 


_. by-street. Only the last score of riders drew rein and ~ 


faced about in the entrance; the footmen, whom they 


carried behind them, leapt at the same instant to the © 


earth, and began, some to bend their bows, and others — 


‘to break into and secure the houses upon either hand. 


Surprised at this sudden change of direction, and — 


daunted by the firm front of the rear-guard, the few — 


Lancastrians, after a momentary consultation, turned © 
and rode farther into town to seek for reinforcements. — 
- The quarter of the town upon which, by the advice — 


sisted of five small streets of poor and ill-inhabited — 
houses, occupying a very gentle eminence, and lying © 
open towards the back. 4 

The five streets being each secured by a good guard, — 
the reserve would thus occupy the centre, out of shot, ~ 
and yet ready to carry aid wherever it was needed. © 

Such was the poorness of the neighbourhood that — 
none of the Lancastrian lords, and but few of their ~ 
retainers, had been lodged therein; and the inhabit- ~ 
ants, with one accord, deserted their houses and fled, © 
squalling, along the streets or over garden walls. 4 

In the centre, where the five ways all met, a some- ~ 
what ill-favoured alehouse displayed the sign of the © 
Chequers; and here the Duke of Gloucester chose his 3 
headquarters for the day. 4 

To Dick he assigned the guard of one of the five: 4 


“Go, ” he said, “win are spurs. Win glory for me; 4 


rise by the same ladder. Go,” he added, shaking him 4 
by the hand. . 


SS hby archer at his elbow. “a 
“Go, Dutton, and that right speedily,” he added; i 


THE BLACK ARROW Ae Oe 


“Follow that lad. If ye find him faithful, ye answer 
for his safety, a head for a head. Woe unto you, if 
ye return without him! But if he be faithless—or, 
a. .° instant, ye misdoubt him—stab him from be- 
ind.” 
__ In the meanwhile Dick hastened to secure his post. 
The street he had to guard was very narrow, and 
closely lined with houses, which projected and over- 
_ hung the roadway; but narrow and dark as it was, 
_ since it opened upon the market-place of the town, the 
‘| main issue of the battle would probably fall to be de- 
cided on that spot. ; 
R - The market-place was full of townspeople fleeing in 
_ disorder ; but_there was as yet no sign of any foeman 
ready to attack, and Dick judged he had some time © 
before him to make ready his defence. 
: The two houses at the end stood deserted, with open 
e doors, as the inhabitants had left them in their flight, 
q and from these he had the furniture hastily tossed 
_ forth and piled into a barrier in the entry of the lane. 
OA hundred men were placed at his disposal, and of 
M these he threw the more part into the houses, where 
_ they might lie in shelter and deliver their arrows from 
the windows. With the rest, under his own imme- 
diate eye, he lined the barricade. 
Meanwhile the utmost uproar and confusion had 
continued to prevail throughout the town; and what 
with the hurried clashing of bells, the sounding of 
trumpets, the swift movement of bodies of horse, the 
cries of the commanders, and the shrieks of women, 
_ the noise was almost deafening to the ear. Presently, 
little by little, the tumult began to subside; and soon 
after, files of men in armour and bodies of archers be- 
Been to assemble and form in line for battle in the 


market-place. 

_ A large portion of this body were in murrey and 
blue, and in the mounted knight who ordered their 
array Dick recognised Sir Daniel Brackley. 
_ Then there befell a long pause, which was followed - 
by the almost simultaneous sounding of four trumpets 
from four different quarters of the town. A fifth 


Ao ang er “THE ‘BLACK ‘ARROW 


- moment the files began to move, and a shower of q 
arrows rattled about the barricade, and sounded like 


the five issues of the quarter. Gloucester was be- 


would make good his post, he must rely entirely on 
the hundred men of his command. qi 


_ themselves like madmen to protect their rampart. So 


‘rang in answer from the market-place, and int the same | 


_blows upon the walls of the two flanking houses. ae 
The attack had begun, by a common signal, on all 


| - leaguered upon every side; and Dick judged, if he 


Seven volleys of arrows followed one upon the other 
and in the very thick of the discharges Dick was | 
touched from behind upon the arm, and found a page 
holding out to him a leathern jack, strengthened with | 
_ bright plates of mail. 

“It is from my Lord of Gloucester,” said the paged 

“He hath observed, Sir Richard, that ye went un- 7 
- armed.” yi 

Dick, with a glow at his heart at being so addressed, 
got to his feet and, with the assistance of the page, 
donned the defensive coat. Even as he did so, two | 
arrows rattled harmlessly upon the plates, and a third © 
struck down the page, mortally wounded, at his feet. © 

Meanwhile the whole body of the enemy had been - 
steadily drawing nearer across the market-place; and. | 
_ by this time were so close at hand that Dick gave the) 
order to return their shot. Immediately, from behin di 
the barrier and from the windows of the houses, a 
counter-blast of arrows sped, carrying death. But the 
Lancastrians, as if they had but waited for a signal, } 
shouted loudly in answer; and began to close at a run” 
upon the barrier, the horsemen still hanging back, 
with visors lowered. 

Then followed an obstinate and deadly strugelel 
hand to hand. The assailants, wielding their falchions | 
with one hand, strove with the other to drag down 
_ the structure of the barricade. On the other side, the 
- parts were reversed; and the defenders exposed’ 


_ for some minutes the contest raged almost in silence, 
friend and foe falling one upon another. But it is’ 
always the easier to destroy; and when a single note 


} 


a 


: halt its height, and tottered to a general fall. 


- launched upon the ruinous barricade. 


ond leaped clean upon the summit of the rampart, 


_ same instant he was dragged from the saddle and his 
horse despatched. 
And then the full weight and impetus of the charge 


a 


a : 
beyond, as a stream bestrides and pours across a 
broken dam. 


- death. 


4 


i almost degenerated into flight. 


_ _ Almost at the same time, those who had crossed the A 
. barricade and charged farther up the street, being 
- met before the door of the Chequers by the formid- 
“ able hunchback and the whole reserve of the Yorkists, 


ia q 


MD vista and terror, 


i ‘THE BLACK ARROW 215 
a upon iba tucket recalled the attacking party from this Mi 
_ desperate service, much of the barricade had been 
removed piecemeal, and the whole fabric had sunk to © 
And now the footmen in the market-place fell back, — 
I. at a run, on every side. The horsemen, who had been aM 
Be - standing in a line two deep, wheeled suddenly, and 

} _ striking adder, the long, steel-clad column was 


' Of the first two horsemen, one fell, rider and steed, _ a 
a ‘and was ridden down by his companions. The sec- 


a transpiercing an archer with his lance. Almost in the i 


began to come scattering semitcaley in the excess of ay 


ar 


- burst upon and scattered the defenders. The men-at- 
“arms, surmounting their fallen comrades, and carried 
~ onward by the fury of their onslaught, dashed through _— 
‘Dick’s broken line and poured thundering up the lane 


_ Yet was the fight not over. Still, in the narrow ! 


a ae bills like woodmen; and already, across the width nM . 
' of the passage, there had been formed a second, @ _ 
_ higher, and a more effectual rampart of fallen men — Me 


_ Baffled by this fresh obstacle, the remainder of the 
' ¢avalry fell back; and as, at the sight of this move- 
ment, the flight of arrows redoubled from the case- 
ments of the houses, their retreat had, for a moment, 


+4 Mg Na uf elt Hing SS 1) - 
f He PY an A ee oe 


shee 


216 THE BLACK ARROW 


Dick and his fellows faced about, fresh men poured 
out of the houses; a cruel blast of arrows met the © 
fugitives full in the face, while Gloucester was already 
riding down their rear; in the inside of a minute and a 
half there was no living Lancastrian in the street. 

Then, and not till then, did Dick hold up his reek- 
| ing blade and give the word to cheer. 

Meanwhile Gloucester dismounted from his horse 
and came forward to inspect the post. His face was 
as pale as linen; but his eyes shone in his head like 
some strange jewel, and his voice, when he spoke, 
was hoarse and broken with the exultation of battle 
and success. He looked at the rampart, which neither 
- friend nor foe could now approach without precaution, 
so fiercely did the horses struggle in the throes of 
death, and at the sight of that great carnage he sniled 
upon one side. 

“Despatch these horses,” he said; “they keep wun 


ji 


‘ 


i ’ AA ae 
pi 


a 
ia 
CA 
, 
ZA 
A 
A 
WA 
NG 


\ -, 
% 
Vee 


Sy 


wR 


The duke deliberately drew his sword and dubbed 
Richard a knight. 


THE BLACK ARROW 217 


from your vantage. Richard Shelton,” he added, “ye 
_ have pleased me. Kneel.” 

' The Lancastrians had already resumed their arch- 
- ery, and the shafts fell thick in the mouth of the 
_ street; but the duke, minding them not at all, de- — 
a liberately drew his sword and dubbed Richard a knight ; 
upon the spot. 

_ “And now, Sir Richard,” he continued, “if that ye 
- see Lord Risingham, send me an express upon the in- 
' stant. Were it your last man, let me hear of it in- . 
_ continently. I had rather venture the post than lose 
my stroke at him. For mark me, all of ye,” he added, 
_ raising his voice, “if Earl Risingham fall by another 
hand than mine, T shall count this victory a defeat.” 

Ur ‘My lord duke,” said one of his attendants, ‘“‘is your 
_ grace not weary of exposing his dear life unneed- 
fully? Why tarry we here?” 

_  ‘Catesby,” returned the duke, “here is the battle, 
- not elsewhere. The rest are but feigned onslaughts. 
Here must we vanquish. And for the exposure—if 
ye were an ugly hunchback, and the children gecked 
at you upon the street, ye would count your body 
_ cheaper, and an hour of glory worth a life. Howbeit, 
if ye will, let us ride on and visit the other posts. Sir 
Richard here, my namesake, he shall still hold this 
entry, where he wadeth to the ankles in hot blood. 


not yet done. The worst is yet to ward. Sleep not.” 
He came right up to young Shelton, looking him 
hard in the eyes, and taking his hand in both of his, 
_ gave it so extreme a squeeze that the blood had nearly 
_ spurted. Dick quailed before his eyes. The insane 
_ exeitement, the courage, and the cruelty that he read 
_ therein, filled him with dismay about the future. This 

_ young duke’s was indeed a gallant spirit, to ride fore- i 
_ most in the ranks of war; but after the battle, in the 
_ days of peace and in the circle of his trusted friends, 


_ bring forth the fruits of death, 


_ Him can we trust. But mark it, Sir Richard, ye are 


“ that mind, it was to be dreaded, would continue to i 


ty ( 
y f 
toy 


CHAPTER Ii 
THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY (concluded)’ 


ICK, once more left to.his own counsels, began to : 
look about him. The arrow-shot had somewhat — 
slackened. On all sides the enemy were falling — 


back, and the greater part of the market-place was now i 


left empty, the snow here trampled into orange mud, 


there splashed with gore, scattered all over with dead 


men and horses, and bristling thick with feathered 
arrows. 

On his own side the loss had been cruel. The jaws 
of the little street and the ruins of the barricade were 


_ heaped with the dead and dying; and out of the hun-— 


dred men with whom he had begun the battle, there © 


- ‘were not seventy left who could,still stand to arms. 


At the same time the day was passing. The first ‘ 
reinforcements might be looked for to arrive at any 
moment; and the Lancastrians, already shaken by the 


result of their desperate but unsuccessful onslaught, — 
were in an ill temper to support a fresh invader. bt 


There was a dial in the wall of one of the two flank- a 


ie ing houses; and this, in the frosty wintry sunshine, 
‘ indicated ten of the forenoon. 


Dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a little 


Wee iehcant archer, binding a cut in his arm. 


“It was well fought,” he said, “and, by my sooth, 


they will not charge us twice.” 


“Sir,” said the little archer, “ye have fought right 


well for York, and better for yourself. Never hath 


man in so brief space prevailed so greatly on the duke’s: 


affections. That he should have entrusted such a post 


: to one he knew not is a marvel. But look to your head, 


Mea lat _ Sir Richard! If ye be vanquished—ay, if ye give wa 


one foot’s breadth—axe or cord shall punish it; and | 


o Hee | 218 


“THE BLACK ARROW” 219 


am set if ye do aught doubtful, I will tell you honestly, 
here to stab you from behind!” 

Dick looked at the little man in amaze. 

“You!” he cried. “And from behind!” 


“Tt is right so,” returned the archer; “and because 1 


like not the affair 1 tell it you. Ye must make the post 
good, Sir Richard, at your peril. O, our Crookback is 


a bold blade and a good warrior; but whether in cold 


blood or in hot, he will have all things done exact to 
his commandment. If any fail or hinder, they shall 
die the death.” . 

“Now, by the saints!” cried Richard, “is this so? 
And will men follow such a leader?” 

“Nay, they follow him gleefully,” replied the other; 
“for if he be exact to punish, he is most open-handed 
to reward. And if he spare not the blood and sweat of 


others, he is ever liberal of his own, still in the first 
front of battle, still the last to sleep. He will go far, 


will Crookback Dick o’ Gloucester!’ 

The young knight, if he had before been brave and 
vigilant, was now all the more inclined to watchfulness 
and courage. His sudden favour, he began to perceive, 
had brought perils in its train. And he turned from 


the archer, and once more scanned anxiously the 


market-place. It lay empty as before. , 

*“T like not this quietude,” he said. “Doubtless they 
prepare us some surprise.” 

And, as if in answer to his remark, the archers began 


once more to advance against the barricade, and the — 
arrows to fall thick. But there was something hesi- _ 
tating in the attack. They came not on roundly, but — 


seemed rather to await a further signal. 


Dick looked uneasily about him, spying for a hidden ‘ 


danger. And sure enough, about half way up the little 


ny , 


street a door was suddenly opened from within, and te 


the house continued, for some seconds, and both by 
door and window, to disgorge a torrent of Lancastrian 
‘archers. These, as they leaped down, hurriedly stood _ 


to their ranks, bent their bows, and proceeded to pour : 


upon Dick’s rear a flight of arrows. | 
_ At the same time, the assailants in the market-place __ 


a 220 THE BLACK ARROW 


redoubled their shot, and bey to ube. in stoutly 4 
-upon the barricade. 4 


Dick called down his whole command out of hes a 
houses, and facing them both ways, and encouraging 


_ their valour both by word and gesture, returned as © 


best he could the double shower of shafts that fell — 
about his post. a 
| Meanwhile house after house was opened in the 

street, and the Lancastrians continued to pour out of 
the doors and leap down from the windows, shouting 
victory, until the number of enemies upon Dick’s rear 
was almost equal to the number in his face. It was — 
plain that he could hold the post no longer; what was 
worse, even if he could have held it, it had now become ~— 


ee useless; and the whole Yorkist army lay in a posture 


of helplessness upon the brink of a complete disaster. 
The men behind him formed the vital flaw in the ~ 
general defence; and it was upon these that Dick ~~ 
turned, charging at the head of his men. Sovigorous — 
was the attack, that the Lancastrian archers gave 
ground and staggered, and, at last, breaking their — 
ranks, began to crowd back into the houses from which — 
they had so recently and so vaingloriously sallied. 


Meanwhile the men from the market-place had q 
swarmed across the undefended barricade, and fell on _ 
hotly upon the other side; and Dick must once again ~ 


face about, and proceed to drive them back. Once q 


again the spirit of his men prevailed; they cleared the — 


street in a triumphant style, but even as they did so 4 


the others issued again out of the houses, and took - 


them, a third time, upon the rear. 4 
The Yorkists began to be scattered; several times _ 


Dick found himself alone among his foes and plying 
his bright sword for life; several times he was con- | 


seious of a hurt. And meanwhile the fight swayed to © 
and fro in the street without determinate result. a 
Suddenly Dick was aware of a great trumpeting — 


about the outskirts of the town. The war cry of York — 
began to be rolled up to heaven, as by many and © 
triumphant voices. And at the same time the men ~ 


in front of him began to give ground rapidly, streaming 


THE BLACK ARROW 221 


out of the street and back upon the market-place. 
Some one gave the word to fly. Trumpets were blown 
distractedly, some for a rally, some to charge. It was 
plain that a great blow had been struck, and the Lan- 
castrians were thrown, at least for the moment, into 
full disorder, and some degree of panic. 

And then, like a theatre trick, there followed the last 
act of Shoreby battle. The men in front of Richard 
turned tail, like a dog that has been whistled home, 
and fled like the wind. At the same moment there 
came through the market-place a storm of horsemen, 
fleeing and pursuing, the Lancastrians turning back to 
strike with the sword, the Yorkists riding them down 
at the point of the lance. 


Conspicuous in the mellay, Dick beheld the Crook-; 


back. He was already giving a foretaste of that fu-. 
rious valour and skill to cut his way across the ranks 
of war, which, years afterwards upon the field of Bos-| 
worth, and when he was stained with crimes, almost’ 
sufficed to change the fortunes of the day and the 


destiny of the English throne. Evading, striking, rid-, / 


ing down, he so forced and so manoeuvered his strong 
horse, so aptly defended himself, and so liberally. 


scattered death to his opponents, that he was now far — 


ahead of the foremost of his knights, hewing his way,’ 
with the truncheon of a bloody sword, to where Lord 


Risingham was rallying the bravest. A moment more 
and they had just met; the tall, splendid, and famous” 


warrior against the deformed and sickly boy. 


Yet Shelton had never a doubt as to the result; and © 


when the fight next opened for a moment, the figure of 


the earl had disappeared; but still, in the first of the 


danger, Crookback Dick was launching his big horse 
and plying the truncheon of his sword. 


Thus, by Shelton’s courage in holding the mouth of ‘i 


the street against the first attack, and by the oppor- 


tune arrival of his seven hundred reinforcements, the } | 


lad, who was afterwards to be handed down to the »— 


execration of posterity under the name of Richard IT, 
had won his first considerable fight. 


- except for these partial combats the streets were de 


CHAPTER IV 
THE SACK OF SHOREBY 


: “¢ Cicer was not a foe left within striking distance; 


and Dick, as he looked ruefully about him on the 
remainder of his gallant force, began to count the 
- cost of victory. He was himself, now that the danger 
was ended, so stiff and sore, so bruised and cut and 
_ broken, and, above all, so utterly exhausted by his 
desperate and unremitting labours in the fight, that 
he seemed incapable of any fresh exertion. 
But this was not yet the hour for repose. Shoreby 
had been taken by assault; and though an open town, 
and not in any manner to be charged with the resist- 
ance, it was plain that these rough fighters would be 
not less rough now that the fight was over, and that 
‘the more horrid part ef war would fall to be enacted. 
Richard of Gloucester was not the captain to protect 
the citizens from his infuriated soldiery; and even if 
‘he had the will, it might be questioned if he had the 
power. | 

- It was therefore Dick’s business to find and to pro- 
tect Joanna; and with that end he looked about him at 
the faces of his men. The three or four who seemed 
likeliest to be obedient and to keep sober he drew 
aside; and promising them a rich reward and a special 
‘recommendation to the duke, led them across the 
market-place, now empty of horsemen, and into the 
streets upon the farther side. ) 
_Every here and there small combats of from two to 

a dozen still raged upon the open street; here and 
there a house was being besieged, the defenders throw- 
ing out stools and tables on the heads of the assailants. 
The snow was strewn with arms and corpses; but 


. _serted, and the houses, some standing open, and some 
shuttered and barricaded, had for the most part ceased 


222 


a RP Aer he Tae” SO ir ad beh el AA) SP A ae a eS a 
ATE MA ye LOTT ey a re L Weed ee a ¥ dat bah 
. \ A i La ‘ i 

7 * 
by sp" ¥ 
4 “y ) 7 ’ 
% 
x 


to give out smoke. 


Dick, threading the skirts of these skirmishers, led 


his followers briskly in the direction of the abbey 
church; but when he came the length of the main 
street, a cry of horror broke from his lips. Sir 
Daniel’s great house had been carried by assault. The 


gates hung in splinters from the hinges, an” a double 


throng kept pouring in and out through the entrance, 
seeking and carrying booty. Meanwhile, in the upper 
storeys, some resistance was still being offered to the 


pillagers; for just as Dick came within eyeshot of 


the building, a casement was burst open from within, 


and a poor wretch in murrey and blue, screaming and 
resisting, was forced through the embrasure and tossed rey 


into the street below. 
The most sickening apprehension fell upon Dick. 
He ran forward like one possessed, forced his way into 


the house among the foremost and mounted without — Ay 


pause to the chamber on the third floor where he had 


last parted from Joanna. It was a mere wreck; the — e 
furniture had been overthrown, the cupboards broken 
open, and in one place a trailing corner of the arras lay - 


‘smouldering on the embers of the fire. Dick, almost 


without thinking, trod out the incipient conflagration, © 


and then stood bewildered. Sir Daniel, Sir Oliver, 
- Joanna, all were gone; but whether butchered in the 
rout or safe escaped from Shoreby, who should say? 


4 “Let be,” said the archer. “A murrain! let be, or I 
strike.” 


* Stand and be plain.” 
But the man, flushed with drink and battle, struck 
Dick on the shoulder with one hand, while with the 


holding him at arm’s length, he bid him speak. as he 
valued life, 


THE BLACK ARROW 993, 


He caught a passing archer by the tabard. “Fellow,” ink | 
he asked, “‘were ye here when this house was taken?” | 


“Hark ye,” returned Richard, “two can play at that. uy | 


other he twitched away his garment. Thereupon the 
full wrath of the young leader burst from his control. 
He seized the fellow in his strong embrace, and crushed 
him on the plates of his mailed bosom like a child; then, 


ici abel | THE BLACK ARROW 

“ft pray you mercy!” gasped the | archer. “An I ~ 
thought ye were so angry I would ’a’ been charier of © 
-erossing you. I was here indeed.” 

. “Know ye Sir Daniel?” pursued Dick. 

“Well do I know him,” returned the man. 

““Was he in the mansion?” 

““Ay, Sii, he was,” answered the archer; “put e even as 
we entered by the yard gate he rode forth by the 
garden.” 

“Alone?” cried Dick. 

“He may ’a’ had a score of lances with him,’ gaid 
the man. | . 

“Lances! No women, then?” asked Shelton. 

“Troth, I saw not,” said the archer. “But there were 
-none in the house, if that be your quest.” 


“T thank you,” said Dick. “Here is a piece for your 


pains.” But groping in his wallet, Dick found noth- 
ing. “Inquire for me _ to-morrow,’ he added— 
“Richard Shel—Sir Richard Shelton,” he corrected, 
“and I will see you handsomely rewarded. a 

And then an idea struck Dick. He hastily de- 
scended to the courtyard, ran with all his might across 
the garden, and came to the great door of the church. 
It stood wide open; within, every corner of the pave- 
ment was crowded with fugitive burghers, surrounded 
by their families and laden with the most precious of 


their possessions, while, at the high altar, priests in — q 


full canonicals were imploring the mercy of God. Even 
as Dick entered, the chorus began to thunder in the 
vaulted roofs. 

He hurried through the groups of refugees, and 
came to the door of the stair that led into the steeple. 
And here a tall churchman stepped before him and 
arrested his advance. 

“Whither, my son?” he asked severely. 


' “My father,’’ answered Dick, “I am here upon an 4 
errand of expedition. Stay me not. I command here a 


for my Lord of Gloucester.” 
“For my Lord of Gloucester?” repeated the priest. 
“Hath, then, the battle gone so sore?” a 
| “The battle, father, is at an end, Lancaster clean 


THE BLACK ARROW 225 


sped, my Lord of Risingham—Heaven rest him !—left 
upon the field. And now, with your good leave, I 
follow mine affairs.” And thrusting on one side the 

priest, who seemed stupefied at the news, Dick pushed 
open the door and rattled up the stairs four at a 
bound, and without pause or stumble, till he stepped 
upon the open platform at the top. 

Shoreby Church tower not only commanded the 
town, as in a map, but looked far, on both sides, over 
sea and land. It was now near upon noon, the day 
exceedingly bright, the snow dazzling. And as Dick 
looked around him, he could measure the consequences 
of the battle. 

A confused, growling uproar reached him from the 
streets, and now and then, but very rarely, the clash 
of steel. Not a ship, not so much as a skiff, remained 

in the harbour; but the sea was dotted with sails and 
rowboats laden with fugitives. On shore, too, the 
surface of the snowy Meadows was broken up with 
‘bands of horsemen, some cutting their way towards 
the borders of the forest, others, who were doubtless of 
the Yorkist side, stoutly interposing and beating 
_ them back upon the town. Over all the open ground 
there lay a prodigious quantity of fallen men and 
horses, clearly defined upon the snow. 

- To complete the picture, those of the toot soldiers as 
had not found place upon a ship still kept up an archery. 
combat on the borders of the port, and from the cover 
of the shoreside taverns. In that quarter, also, one or 
_ two houses had been fired, and the smoke towered high 
J ae frosty sunlight, and blew off to sea in voluminous 
folds. 

Already close upon the margin of the woods, and 


- somewhat in the line of Holywood, one particular clump 


_ of fleeing horsemen riveted the attention of the young 
watcher on the tower. It was fairly numerous; in no 
_ other quarter of the field did so many Lancastrians still — 
hold together; thus they had left a wide, discoloured 
wake upon the snow, and Dick was able to trace them 
_ step by step from where they had left the town. 

While Dick stood watching them, they had gained 


en unopposed the fou fringe of the leafless forest, ani 


ay ' the dusky wood. 


_ maurrey and blue!” 


| debt upon my conscience. Gatesby. get him thecal 


926 «=*'=“«<T HE BLACK. ARROW 


turning a little trom their direction, the sun fell. ‘for a ji *y 
moment full on their array, as it was relieved against © 


“Murrey and blue!’ cried Dick. “Il swear te 


The next moment he was descending the stairway. 
It was now his business to seek out the Duke of — 
Gloucester, who, alone, in the disorder of the forces’ 
might be able to supply him with a sufficiency of men. 
The fighting in the main town was now practically at — 
an end; and, as Dick ran hither and thither, seeking — 
the commander, the streets were thick with wandering © 
soldiers, some laden with more booty than they could 
well stageer under, others shouting drunk. None of 
them, when questioned, had the least notion of the 
duke’s whereabouts; and, at last, it was by sheer good — 
fortune that Dick found him, ‘where he sat in the 
saddle, directing operations to dislodge the archers — 
from the harbour side. i 
“Sir Richard Shelton, ye are well found,” he said. “I 
owe you one thing that I value little, my life; and one — 
that I can never pay you for, this victory. Catesby,if — 
I had ten such captains as Sir Richard Shelton, I would — 
march forthright on London., But now, sir, claim your ~ 
reward.” gy 
“Freely, my lord,” said Dick, ‘freely and loudly. © 
One hath escaped +6 whom I owe some grudges, and | 
taken with him one whom I owe love and service. Give 
ih me, then, fifty lances, that I may pursue; and for any © 


Pee 


it shall be clean discharged.’ 
_ “How call ye him?” inquired the Duke. 
“Sir Daniel Brackley,” answered Richard. oe 
“Out upon him, eae cried Gloucester. : 


- lances; and you, sir, bethink ye, in the meanwhile, wha 
pleasure, honour, or profit it shall be mine to give you.’ 
Just then the Yorkist skirmishers carried one of th 


Sale TWA em aaa ih 
- it s ‘f ie " a J ; 


i istokeatde Rhea swarming in upon it on thee sila 


and driving out or taking its defenders. Crookback | 
_ Dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, and pushing his _ 


_ horse a little nearer, called to see the prisoners. 
-. There were four or five of them—two men of my 
' Lord Shoreby’s and one of Lord Risingham’s among the 
_ number, and last, but in Dick’s eyes not least, a tall, 


shambling, grizzled old shipman, between drunk and | i 
_ sober, and with a dog whimpering and jumping at hisiy ii 


a heels. 


” __ The young duke passed them for a moment under a 
y 


severe review. “Good,” he said. “Hang them.” 


And he turned the other way to watch the progress a 


of the fight. 


A “My lord,” said Dick, “so please you, I have found 


1 Ag rg er . nh, ay. CL PTV AY Pure FP aa, "he Daly w 7 
Ne NES WAP Ma aaa UTA TCE CMIhg Pah 


“THE BLACK ARROW Se iaptatae sige: 


. my reward, Grant me the life and liberty of yon old. A 


_ shipman.” 
i Gloucester turned and looked the speaker in the face. 


_ “Sir Richard,” he said, “I make not war with pea- hi 
cock’s feathers, but steel ‘shafts. Those that are mine 


- enemies I slay, and that without excuse or favour. 


- For, bethink ye, in this realm of England, that is so. 


Y 


4 torn in pieces, there is not a man of mine but hath a 


# brother or a friend upon the other party. If, then,I 
_ did begin to grant these pardons, I might sheathe my 


; _ sword. 4s 
iP “It may be so, my lord; and yet I will be over bold, 


and, at the risk of your disfavour, recall your lord- 


% ship’ s promise,” replied Dick. 
_ Richard of Gloucester flushed. ) 
| “Mark it right well,” he said, harshly. “I love not 


» my word, which I have plighted, I will yield. But, by 
ig ‘the glory of heaven, there your favour dies!’ 
_ “Mine is the loss,” said Dick. 


- his horse, he turned his back upon young Shelton. 


Bey 


on the young duke to set great store on his affection; 
y 


Dick was nor glad nor sorry. He had seen too much 


te hae the origin and growth of his own favour had been | 


“mercy, nor yet mercy-mongers. Ye have this day laid. — ! \ 
the foundations of high fortune. If ye oppose to me 


“Give him his sailor,” said the duke; and wheeling . a 


2298 ~~ «THE BLACK ARROW 


nor, above all, to his decision. If he had once judged 
- Dick to be the right man to pursue Sir Daniel, he was © 
-» not one to change; and he soon proved it by shouting ; 


piueh tears, the poor old man, bemused with liquor 
ig! and sorrow, go shambling away, with bowed head, 


aA 


for if your life is worth nothing to you, it hath cost me > 


“his heels; and for the first time began to understand | 
‘the desperate game that we play in life, and how a 


too flimsy and too rapid to inspire much confidence. — 
One thing alone he feared—that the vindictive leader 
might revoke the offer of the lances. But there he did - 
justice neither to Gloucester’s honour (such as it was) © 


after Catesby to be speedy, for the paladin was , 
waiting. a 
In the meanwhile, Dick turned to the old Shion q 
who had seemed equally indifferent to his condemna- : 
tion and to his subsequent release. ; 
“Arblaster,” said Dick, “I have done you ill; but now, — 
by the rood, I think I have cleared the score.’ A 
But the old skipper only looked upon him dully an& ‘ 
held his peace. t 
‘Come,’ continued Dick, “a life is a life, old shineae if 
and it is more than ships or liquor. Say ye forgive me; 


—~ 


the beginnings of my fortune. Gome, I have paid for 
it dearly ; be not so churlish.” q 
“An I had had my ship,” said Arblaster, “I would — 
’a’ been forth and safe on the high seas—I and my q 
man Tom. But ye took my ship, gossip, and ’m a — 
beggar; and for my man Tom, a knave fellow in russet é. 
shot him down. ‘Murrain! quoth he, and spake never ~ 
again. ‘“Murrain’ was the last of his words, and the 
poor spirit of him passed. ’A will never sail no more, © 
will my Tom.” 4 
Dick was seized with unavailing penitence and pity; — 
he sought to take the skipper’s hand, but Arblaster — 
avoided his touch. a 
“Nay,” said he, “let be. Y’ have played the devil. 
with me, and let that content you.” : 
“The words died in Richard’s throat. He saw, 4 


across the snow, and the unnoticed dog whimpering at_ 


thing once done is not to be changed or remedied by 


THE BLACK ARROW 229 


any penitence. But there was no time left to him for 

vain regret. Catesby had now collected the horsemen, 
and riding up to Dick he dismounted, and offered him 
his own horse. 

“This morning,” he said, “I was somewhat jealous of 
your favour; it hath not been of a long growth; and 
now, Sir Richard, it is with a very good heart that I 
offer you this horse—to ride away with.” 

“Suffer me yet a moment,” replied Dick. “This 
favour of mine—whereupon was it founded?” 

“Upon your name,” answered Catesby. “It is my 
lord’s chief superstition. Were my name Richard, I 
should be an earl to-morrow.” 

“Well, sir, I thank you,” returned Dick; ‘‘and since 1 \ 
am little likely to follow these great fortunes, I will | 
even say farewell. I wiil not pretend I was diapleasean | 

_ to think myself upon the road to fortune; but I will | 
not pretend, neither, that I am over sorry to be done ~ 
with it. Command and riches, they are brave things, ‘ 
to be sure; but a word in your ear-—yon duke of yours, | 
he is a fearsome lad.” j 

“Nay,” said he, “of a verity he that rides with 
Crooked Dick will ride deep. Well, God keep us all 
from evil! Speed ye well.” 

Thereupon Dick put himself at the head of his men, — 

_and giving the word of command, rode off. 

- He made straight across the town, following what 

he supposed to be the route of Sir Daniel, and spy- 

“So Naa for any signs that might decide if he were 

rig 

_ The streets were strewn with the dead and the 

wounded, whose fate, in the bitter frost, was far the 
more pitiable. Gangs of the victors went from house 
to house, pillaging and stabbing, and sometimes sing- 
ing together as they went. 

From different quarters, as he rode on, the sounds 

_ Of violence and outrage came to young Shelton’s ears; 

‘now the blows of the sledge-hammer on some barricaded 
ve: Det and now the miserable shrieks of women. 
 Dick’s heart had just been awakened. He had just 

"% * seen the cruel consequences of his own behaviour; and 


po 


‘wy 
; . } ‘ ‘ 
Oe 


* 


Bag ihe BLACK : ARROW - 


the thought of the sum ‘of misery that was ‘now acti : 
in the whole of Shoreby filled him with despair. ae 
At length he reached the outskirts, and there, sires 
~ enough, he saw straight before him the same broad, i 
beaten track across the snow that he had marked fror e) 
faster on; but still, as he ‘rode, he kept a bright eye i 
upon the ‘fallen men and horses that lay beside the © 
' track. Many of these, he was relieved to see, wore Sir 
- Daniel’s colours, and the faces of some, who lay upend 4 
_ their backs, he even recognized. i 
About halfway between the town and the forest, 4 
those whom he was following had plainly been assailed — a 
by archers; for the corpses lay pretty closely scattered, 
each pierced by an arrow. And here Dick spied among 
the rest the body of a very young lad, whose face was 
somehow hauntingly familiar to him. 
He halted his troop, dismounted, and raised the lad’s 
‘head. As he did so, the hood fell back, and a pro- ‘q 
fusion of long brown hair unrolled itself. "At the same 
time the eyes opened. oe 
“Ah, lion-driver!’ said the feeble voice. “She 7 
farther on. Ride—ride fast!’’ : 
And then the poor young lady fainted once again. 
One of Dick’s men carried a flask of some stron 
cordial, and with this Dick succeeded in reviving co 
sciousness. Then he took Joanna’s friend upon 
his saddle-bow, and once more pushed toward the 
forest. me 
“Why do ye take me?” said the girl. “Ye but delay ’ 
your speed.” 
“Nay, Mistress Risingham,” replied Dick. “Shoreb 
is full of blood and drunkenness and riot. Here ye ar 
safe; content ye.” 
Ea | ‘will not be behoiden to any of your faction,” sh 
eried: ; “set me down.” Re 
we “Madam, ye know not what ye say,’ returned Dic 
 €Y’ are hurt——” if 
 *T am not,” she said. “It was my horse was slai 
“It matters not one jot,” replied Richard. “Ye are 
ui here in the midst of pe snow, and compassed ab | 


y Oe ea te 64? oe Eee re Wl Ax bp Wear) m7 is 
J mare 8 We oy “Rye y yf 2) EES vay TEP SY yy Vy f « MEN is 4 ? 5 
ey Sh mS neg ‘ pre Aa Ven tuys 7 *: f 4 at ws 
‘ west pba re % way ae ) e¢ iy? Pe Pet) AGN AY ' , CAND. 
Ley RUA iene 4 OF as ah Hy hn ih 

h ; < - } . 2 ’ 
THE BLACK ARROW (2381 
. < 4 ¢ i 

> 7 


i He raised the lad’s head. As he did so, a profusion of long 


brown hair unrolled itself. 


j with enemies. Whether ye will or not, I carry you with 
_™e. Glad am I to have the occasion; for thus shall 1 
repay some portion of our debt.” 


For a little while she was silent. Then, very sud- 


| denly, she asked: 


x 

A; 

i 
sy 
¥i 
ni 
", 


BN 
4 


“My uncle?” 
“My Lord Risingham?” returned Dick. “I would I 


had good news to give you, madam; but I have none. 


I saw him once in the battle, and once only. Let us hope 
the best.” A? 


CHAPTER V. 
NIGHT IN THE WOODS: ALICIA RISINGHAM | 


T was almost certain that Sir Daniel had made for 
the Moat House; but, considering the heavy snow, 
the lateness of the hour, and the necessity under 

which he would lie of avoiding the few roads and strik-- 
ing across the wood, it was equally certain that he 
could not hope to reach it ere the morrow. a 

There were two courses open to Dick; either to con- 
tinue to follow in the knight’s trail, and, if he were 
able, to fall upon him that very night in camp; or to 
strike out a path of his own, and seek to place himself 
between Sir Daniel and his destination. 3 

Either scheme was open to serious objection, and 
Dick, who feared to expose Joanna to the hazards of 
a fight, had not yet decided between them when 
reached the borders of the wood. a 

At this point Sir Daniel had turned a little to his 
left, and then plunged straight under a grove of very 
lofty timber. His party had then formed to a narrower 
front, in order to pass between the trees, and the track 
was trod proportionately deeper in the snow. ‘The eye 4 
followed it, under the leafless tracery of the oaks, 
running direct and narrow; the trees stood over it, with 
knotty joints and the great, uplifted forest of their 
boughs; there was no sound, whether of man or beast. 
—not so much as the stirring of a robin; and over the 
field of snow the winter sun lay golden among ne 
shadows. 

“How say ye,” asked Dick of one of the men, “to 

follow straight on, or strike across for Tunstall?” 

‘Sir Richard,” replied the man-at-arms, a vous 

follow the line until they scatter.” 

“Ye are, doubtless, right,” returned Dick; “but we 

came right hastily upon the errand, even as the tie 


THE BLACK ARROW 233 


commanded. Here are no houses, neither food nor 
shelter, and by the morrow’s dawn we shall know both - 
cold fingers and an empty belly. How say ye, lads? 


Will ye stand a pinch for expedition’s sake, or shall 


we turn by Holywood and sup with Mother Church? 
The case being somewhat doubtful, I will drive no 
man; yet if ye would suffer me to lead you, ye would 
choose the first.” 

The men answered, almost with one voice, that they 
would follow Sir Richard where he would. 

And Dick, setting spur to his horse, began once more 


to go forward. 


The snow in the trail had been trodden very hard, 
and the pursuers had thus a great advantage over the — 
pursued. They pushed on, indeed, at a round trot, two 
hundred hoofs beating alternately on the dull pave- 
ment of the snow, and the jingle of weapons and the 
snorting of horses raising a warlike noise along the 
arches of the silent wood. 

Presently, the wide slot of the pursued came out 
upon the high-road from Holywood; it was there, for 
a moment, indistinguishable; and, where it once more 
plunged into the unbeaten snow upon the farther side, 
Dick was surprised to see it narrower and lighter trod. 
Plainly, profiting by the road, Sir Daniel had begun 
already to scatter his command. 

At all hazards, one chance being equal to another, 
Dick continued to pursue the straight trail; and that, 
after an hour’s riding, in which it led into the very 
depths of the forest, suddenly split, like a bursting 
shell, into two dozen others, leading to every point of 
the compass. . 

Dick drew bridle in despair. The short winter’s day 


was near an end; the sun, a dull red orange, shorn of 


Se i 
PS 
“dF 
wt ad “ 
zs 
hae 
itt are & 


‘rays, swam low among the leafless thickets; the 


shadows were a mile long upon the snow; the frost bit 
cruelly at the finger-nails; and the breath and steam 


of the horses mounted in a cloud. 


“Well, we are outwitted,” Dick confessed. “Strike 
we for Holywood, after all. It is still nearer us than 
Tunstall—or should be by the station of the sun.” 


they could no longer spank forth briskly on a path — ) 
beaten firm by the passage of their foes, and for a © 


ue they must plough at a dull pace through the encumber- 


Ing snow, continually pausing to decide their course, 
- continually floundering in drifts. The sun soon left © 


- most delicate of this rough and scanty fare, brought — 


and stared straight before her at the firelit scene. At 
dream, and then silently refused. 
- not so cruelly. Wherein I have offended you, I know — 
i not; I have, indeed, carried you away, but with a 

i friendly violence: I have, indeed, exposed you. to the 


_ hath for its end the preservation of another, who is : nog 
f less frail and no less unfriended than yourself. At ~ 


‘ _ hunger, then for strength.” 


the soldiery against a tree. aM 


So they wheeled to their left, turning their bac 
on the red shield of sun, and made across country for 
the abbey. But now times were changed with them; — “fi 


goal to which that path itself conducted them. Now © | 


them; the glow of the west decayed; and presently — 

they were wandering in a shadow of blackness, under . 

frosty stars. 
Presently, indeed, the moon would clear the hilltops, 


and they might resume their march. But till then, 4 


every random step might carry them wider of their 
march. There was nothing for it but to camp and wait. 

Sentries were posted; a spot of ground was cleared 
of snow, and after some failures, a good fire blazed in © 
the midst. The men-at-arms sat close about this forest 
hearth, sharing such provisions as they had, and 
passing about the flask; and Dick, having collected the 


it to Lord Risingham’s niece, where she sat apart from — 
She sat upon one horse-cloth, wrapped in another, a 
the offer of food she started, like one wakened from a 


| “Madam,” said Dick, “let me beseech you, punish me 


inclemency of night, but the hurry that lies upon me 


least, madam, punish not yourself; and eat, if not for 


“I will eat nothing at the hands that slew my kin 
man,” she replied. | 

“Dear madam,” Dick cried “] swear to you upon | 
_ rood I touched him not.’ t 


THE BLACK ARROW hic OaBie 
% “aie “Swear to me that he still lives,’”’ she returned. : 
_ “TY will not palter with you,” answered Dick. “Pity 
| ae me to wound you. In my heart I do believe him 
q ea LAY é 


“And ye ask me to eat!” she cried. “Ay, and they — 
call you ‘sir’! Y’ have won your spurs by my good 


kinsman’s murder. And had I not been fool and traitor | ‘A 


both, and saved you in your enemy’s house, ye should 
have died the death, and he—he that was worth twelve 
of you—were living.” it 


“I did but my man’s best, even as your kinsman did 


upon the other party,” answered Dick. “Were he still. 
living—as I vow to Heaven I wish it!—he would praise, 


not blame me.’ eae 
“Sir Daniel hath told me,” she replied. “He marked 


you at the barricade. Upon you, he saith, their party : 


as though ye had strangled him. And ye would have ~ 


foundered; it was you that won the battle. Well, then, 
_ it was you that killed my good Lord Risingham, as sure 


me eat with you—and your hands not washed from 
_ killing? But Sir Daniel hath sworn your downfall, _ 


He ’tis that will avenge me!” 


The unfortunate Dick was plunged in gloom. Old i 
_Arblaster returned upon his mind, and he groaned | 


' aloud. “Do ye hold me so guilty?” he said; “you that _ 
_ defended me—you that are Joanna’s friend?” ee 
“What made ye in the battle?” she retorted. “Y" |. 
-_ are of no party; y’ are but a lad—but legs and body, ~ 

without government of wit or counsel! Wherefore did. my 
' ye fight? For the love of hurt, pardy!”’ rales 


“Nay,” cried Dick, “I know not. But as the realm 


' of England goes, if that a poor gentleman fight not — 
-- upon the one side, perforce he must fight upon the — 
_ other, He may not stand alone, ’tis not in nature.” 
+ “They that have no judgment should not draw the 
' sword,” replied the young lady. “Ye that fight but. 
- fora hazard, what are ye but a butcher? War is but — 
noble by the cause, and y’ have disgraced it.” 43 
“Madam,” said the miserable Dick, ‘I do partly see 


~- 


busy before my time, Already I stole a ship—think-- 


- ‘mineerror. I have made too much haste; I have been © 


236 THE BLACK ARROW _ 


ing, I do swear it, to do well—and thereby brought — 
about the death of many innocent, and the grief and _ 
ruin of a poor old man whose face this very day hath ~~ 
stabbed me like a dagger. And for this morning,I did — 
but design to do myself credit, and get fame to marry 
with, and, behold! I have brought about the death of 
your dear kinsman that was good to me. And what 
besides, I know not. For, alas! I may have set York 
upon the throne, and that may be the worser cause, 
and may do hurt to England. O! madam, I do see my 
sin. I am unfit for life. I will, for penance sake and 
to avoid worse evil, once I have finished this adventure, 
get me to a cloister. I will forswear Joanna and the | 
trade of arms. I will be a friar, and pray for your — 

- good kinsman’s spirit all my days.” 
It appeared to Dick, in this extremity of his humilia- 
tion and repentance, that the young lady had laughed. 
Raising his countenance, he found her looking down 
upon him, in the firelight, with a somewhat peculiar ~ 
but not unkind expression. ‘ 
“Madam,” he cried, thinking the laughter to have — 
been an illusion of his hearing, but still, from her ~ 
changed looks, hoping to have touched her heart— 
“madam, will not this content you? I give up all to — 
undo what I have done amiss; I make heaven certain — 
for Lord Risingham. And all this upon the very day 
that I have won my spurs, and thought myself the | 
happiest young gentleman on ground.” aI 
“O, boy,’ she said—‘“‘good boy !’”” a 
And then, to the extreme surprise of Dick, she first — 
very tenderly wiped the tears away from his cheeks, 
and then, as if yielding to a sudden impulse, threw both ~ 
her arms about his neck, drew up his face, and kissed ~ 
ae A pitiful bewilderment came over simple-minded _ 
ic jl 
“But come,” she said, ik great cheerfulness, “you — 
that are a captain, ye must eat. Why sup ye not?” : 
“Dear Mistress Risingham,” replied Dick, “I did bub! 4 
wait first upon my prisoner; but, to say truth, © 
Ke penitence will no longer suffer me to endure the sight a 
_ of food. I were better to fast, dear lady, and to pray.” — 


: 

J 

4 

- 

s 
a 


THE BLACK ARROW 237 


“Call me Alicia,” she said; “are we not old friends? 
And now, come, I will eat with you, bit for bit and sup 
for sup; so if ye eat not, neither will I; but if ye eat 
hearty, I will dine like a ploughman.” 

So there and then she fell to; and Dick, who had an 
excellent stomach, proceeded to bear her company, at 
first with great reluctance but gradually, as he entered 
into the spirit, with more and more vigour and devo- 
tion; until, at last, he forgot even to watch his model, 


and most heartily repaired the expenses of his day of 


Jabour and excitement. 

*“Lion-driver,” she said, at length, “ye do not admire 
a maid in a man’s jerkin? 

The moon was now up; and they were only waiting 
to repose the wearied horses. By the moon’s light, the — 
still penitent but now well-fed Richard beheld her look- | 
ing somewhat coquettishly down upon him. 

“Madam 
turn in her manners. 

“Nay,” she interrupted, “it skills not to deny; Joanna 
hath told me; but come, Sir Lion-driver, look at me— 
am I so homely ?—come!” 

And she made bright eyes at him. | 

“Ye are something smallish, indeed ” began Dick. 

And here again she interrupted him, this time with 
a ringing peal of laughter that completed his confusion 
and surprise. “Smallish!”’ she cried. ‘Nay,’ now, be 
honest as ye are bold; I am a dwarf, or little better; 


but for all that—come, tell me!—for all that, passably — 


fai: to look upon; is’t not so?” 

“Nay, madam, exceedingly fair,” said the distressed 
knight, pitifully trying to seem easy. ! ‘ 
“And a man would be right glad to wed me?” she 
pursued. : 

“O, madam, right glad!” agreed Dick. 

“Call me Alicia,” said she. 

“Alicia,” quoth Sir Richard. 

“Well, then, lion-driver,”’ she continued, “sith that 
ye slew my kinsman, and left me without stay, ye owe 
me, in honour, every reparation; do ye not?” 

“IT do, madam,” said Dick. “Although, upon my 


” he stammered, surprised at this new 


Fea THE BLACK ARROW 


man, 


- now, no words! 
ing. For see how just it is, that ye who deprived me 
of one home, should supply me with another. And, as 


Heart, I in held me put partially guilty of that brave 


knight’s blood.”’ 


“Would ye evade me?” she cried. 

“Madam, not so. I have told you; at your bidding, I 
will even turn me a monk,” said Richard. 

“Then, in honour, ye belong to me?” she concluded. 

“In honour, madam, I suppose——" began the young 


“Go to!” she interrupted; “ye are too full of catches. 


In honour do ye belong to me, till ye have paid the 
evil?” 


“Tn honour I do,” said Dick. 
‘Hear, then,’ she continued. “Ye would make but a 


» sad friar, methinks; and since I am to dispose of you 
at pleasure, I will even take you for my husband. Nay, 


17? 


cried she. “They will avail you noth- 


for Joanna, she will be the first, believe me, to com- 
mend the change; for, after all, as we be dear friends, 


/ ae matters it with which of us ye wed? Not one 
; Ww it 99 


“Madam,” said Dick, “‘I will go into a cloister, an ye 
please to bid me; but to wed with anyone in this big 


world besides Joanna Sedley is what I will consent to 


neither for man’s force nor yet for lady’s pleasure. 
Pardon me if I speak my plain thoughts plainly; but 
where a maid is very bold, a poor man must even be 


Po ene bolder.” 


“Dick,” she said, ‘ye sweet boy, ye must come and 
kiss me for that word. Nay, fear not, ye shall kiss me 
for Joanna, and when we meet I shall give it back to 
her, and say I stole it. And as for what ye owe me, why, 


dear simpleton, methinks ye were not alone in that 
- great battle; and even if York be on the throne, it was — 
- not you that set him there. But for a good, sweet, — 
_ honest heart, Dick, y’ are all that; andif I could findit 
in my soul to envy your Joanna anything, Iwouldenvy — 


her your love,” 


CHAPTER VI 


NIGHT IN THE WOODS (concluded): DICK ANDJOAN 


: HE horses had by this time finished the small — 
ees store of provender, and fully breathed from — 
iS their fatigues. At Dick’s command the fire was — 
- smothered in snow; and while his men got once more © 
i wearily to saddle, he himself, remembering, somewhat — 
Tate, true woodland caution, chose a tall oak, and . 

 nimbly clambered to the topmost fork. Hence he © 
- eould look far abroad on the moonlit and snow-paved — 
forest. On the southwest, dark against the horizon, | 
- stood those upland heathy quarters where he and — 
_. Joanna had met with the terrifying misadventure of | 
the leper. And there his eye was caught by a spot of Ws 


ruddy brightness no bigger than a needle’s eye. 


“ELS He blamed himself sharply for his previous neice, ‘ 
Were that, as it appeared to be, the shining of Sir | 
. Daniel’s camp-fire he should long ago have seen and — 
_- marched for it; above all, he should, for no considera- _ 
tion, have announced his neighbourhood by lighting — 
Oy _ afire of hisown. But now he must no longer squander — 
_ valuable hours. The direct way to the uplands was — 
aj about two miles in length: but it was crossed by a very | 
deep, precipitous dingle, impassable to mounted men; — 
- and for the sake of speed, it seemed to Dick advisable _ 
_ to desert the horses and attempt the adventure on foot. . 
Ten men were left to guard the horses; signals — 
_-—s Were agreed upon by which they could communicate — 
-_ in case of need; and Dick set forth at the head of the | 
-- remainder, Alicia Risingham walking stoutly by his — 


hae side, 


tip _ with a very good spirit in the frozen snow, and under — 
Say qa | 239 


‘The men had freed themselves of heavy armour, — 
oak and left behind their lances; and they now marched i 


Regt 


240 THE BLACK ARROW saat 


the exhilarating lustre of the moon. ‘The descent 
into the dingle, where a stream strained sobbing 
through the snow and ice, was effected with silence and 
order; and on the further side, being then within a 
short half-mile of where Dick had seen the glimmer of 


_ the fire, the party halted to breathe before the attack. 


In the vast silence of the wood, the lightest sounds 
were audible from far; and Alicia, who was keen of 
hearing, held up. her finger warningly, and stooped 
to listen. All followed her example; but besides the 


- groans of the choked brook in the dingle close behind, 
and the barking of a fox at a distance of many miles 


among the forest, to Dick’s acutest hearkening not a 
breath was audible. 

“But yet, for sure, I heard the clash of harness,” 
whispered Alicia. 

“Madam,” returned Dick, who was more afraid of 
that young lady than of ten stout warriors, “I would 
not hint ye were mistaken; but it might well have 
come from either of the camps.’’ 

“It came not thence. It came from westward,” she 
declared. 

“It may be what it will,” returned Dick; “and it 
must be as heaven please. Reck we not a jot, but 
push on the livelier, and put it to the touch. Up, 


ve friends—enough breathed.”’ 


As they advanced, the snow became more and more 
trampled with hoof-marks, and it was plain that they  — 
were drawing near to the encampment of a consider- } 
able force of mounted men. Presently they could see 
the smoke pouring from among the trees, ruddily col- 


oured on its lower edge and scattering bright sparks. 


And here, pursuant to Dick’s orders, his men began 
to open out, creeping stealthily in the covert, to sur- 
round on every side the camp of their opponents. He 
himself, placing Alicia in the shelter of a bulky oak, 


| _ stole straight forth in the direction of the fire. 


At last, through an opening of the wood, his eye em- 
braced the scene of the encampment. The fire had 


Us been built upon a heathy hummock of the ground, sur- 


rounded on three sides by thieket, and it now burned a 


ss THE BLACK ARROW 241 


Bi, Ane tha 


: vl _ Around it there sat not quite a dozen people, warmly 


‘te ” trampled down as by a regiment, Dick looked in vain 


cloaked; but though the neighbouring snow was 


very strong, roaring aloud and brandishing flames. | 


e for any horse. He began to have a terrible misgiving 


that he was out-manceuvred. At the same time, in a — 


By guise, Joanna Sedley and Sir Daniel’s wife. 


ye ae ee 


Bennet, at the sound, started to his feet; but ere 


tall man with steel salet, who was spreading his hands — 
a ome before the blaze, he recognized his old friend and still 
kindly enemy, Bennet Hatch; and in two others, sit- — 
_ ting a little back, he made out, even in their male dis- 


“Well,” thought he to himself, “even if I lose my : 
as horses, let me get my Joanna, and why should I com- — 


: ‘ had time to spring upon his arms, Diek hailed him. — 


Rr: 
te Ye will but spill men’s lives in vain if ye resist. a 


Dy oh ‘Hatch. “Yield me? Ye ask ‘much. What force have ye?” 


_ and wound a rousing call. 


“Bennet,” he said— “Bennet, old friend, yield ye. 
ae “Tis Master Shelton, by St. Barbary!” cried 


a “T tell you, Bennet, ye are both outnumbered and © 
_ begirt, * said Dick. “Cesar and Charlemagne would - 
ess cry for quarter. I have two score men at my whistle, 
ana with one shot of arrows I could answer for you - 


“Master Dick,” said Bennet, “it goes against my 
ie art but I must do my duty. The saints help you eee 
- And therewith he raised a little tucket to his mouth © 


Then followed a moment of confusion; for while | 


‘ pag  piat fearing for the ladies, still hesitated "to give the © 


Word to shoot, Hatch’s little band sprang to their 


_ sistance. In the hurry of their change of place, Jo ui 


anna sprang from her seat and ran like an arrow to 
a her lover’s side. 

a he “Here, Dick!” she cried, as she clasped his hand i in 
tga ers, 


a Bt tr ’ 


} ae ‘5 * 
PO ite ¢ 
, Rees 


4 


‘ 242 NN THE BLACK ARROW | 


But Dick still stood irresolute; he was at y Caan i 


to the more deplorable necessities of war, and the 
~ thought of old Lady Brackley checked the command 


upon his tongue. His own men became restive. Some 


of them cried on him by name; others, of their own 


accord, began to shoot; and at the first discharge poor _ 


Bennet bit the dust. Then Dick awoke. 
“Onl? he eried. “Shoot, boys, and keep to cover. 
England and York!’ 

But just then the dull beat of many horses on the 

snow suddenly arose in the hollow ear of the night, 

and, with incredible swiftness, drew nearer and 
swelled louder. At the same time, answering tuckets 
repeated and repeated Hatch’s call. 
“Rally, rally!’ eried Dick. “‘Rally upon me! Rally 
for your lives!’’ 
- But his men—afoot, scattered, taken in the hour 
when they counted on an easy triumph—began, in- 


x a stead, to give ground severally, and either stood wav- 
ering or dispersed into the thickets. And when the 


. first of the horsemen came charging through the open 
avenues and fiercely riding their steeds into the under- 
‘wood, a few stragglers were overthrown or speared 
among the brush, but the bulk of Dick’s command had 


simply melted at the rumour of their coming. . 
. Dick stood for a moment, bitterly recognizing the 
fruits of his precipitate and unwise valour. Sir Daniel 

had seen the fire; he had moved out with his main 


He force, whether to attack his pursuers or to take them 
in the rear if they should venture the assault. His 
had been throughout the part of a sagacious captain; 
Dick’s the conduct of an eager boy. And here was 


the young knight, his sweetheart, indeed, holding him Di 


tightly by the hand, but otherwise alone, his whole 


. “command of men and horses dispersed in the night ni | 


and the wide forest, like a paper of pins in a hay barn. a ' 


de oT he saints enlighten me!”? he thought. “It is well ah 
I was knighted for this morning’s matter; this doth — 
me little honour.” ae 
Bian aa thereupon, still holding Joanna, he - began to a 


- A \y ® CAE j La Bene ; ANY NaN 
Fra hay vay 4% ° aig lal 7 ve 
ee ey rea) MO 
,] & we cK 7 : ey Ke J 


hc it AHS, 
“yas ( i Atty 
hey Vibe TS 


bs 


i" hy ‘The a of the night was now shattered by the i 
shouts of the men of Tunstall, as they galloped hither 
‘M and thither, hunting fugitives; and Dick broke boldly 
through the underwood and ran straight before him 
va - like a deer. The silver clearness of the moon upon the 

open snow increased, by contrast, the obscurity of the. 
' thickets; and the extreme dispersion of the van- i 
"s — quished led the pursuers into widely divergent paths. | 
yy Hence, in but a little while, Dick and Joanna paused, 
- ina-close covert, and heard the sounds of the pursuit, 
scattering abroad, indeed, in all directions, but yet. fe 
fainting already in the distance. ANAS 
_ “An I had but kept a reserve of them together,” _ 
‘Dick cried bitterly, “I could have turned the tables — r 
yet! Well, we live and learn; next time it shall Poi) 
ane _ better, by the rood.’ Naa! 
By “Nay, Dick,” said Joanna, “what matters it? Here 


He looked at her, ee there she was—John _ 
babhe _Matcham, as of yore, in hose and doublet. But now 
tie e knew her; now, even in that ungainly dress, she 
smiled upon him, bright with love; and his heart was. 
transported with joy. a Ge 
“Sweetheart,” he said, “if ye forgive this blunderer, 
what care 1? Make we direct for Holywood; there 
r ne lieth your good guardian and my better friend, Lord 
‘iy | Foxham. There shall we be wed; and whether poor 
: or wealthy, famous or unknown, what matters it? | - 
rane This day, dear love, I won my spurs; I was commended. 
by great men for my valour;:I thought myself the 
-goodliest man of war in all broad Hngland. Then, © 
' first, I fell out of my favour with the great; and now * 
have I been well thrashed, and clean lost my soldiers. 
There was a downfall for conceit! But, dear, I care 
' eecae if ye still love me and will wed, I would © Re 


ve 


a 


af My Dick!” she cried. “And did they knight you?” nay 

“Ay, dear, ye are my lady now,” he answered, 
: nays “Or ye shall, ere noon to-morrow—will ye) 
ot?” Ke 


Se ENED CAT COMES, OF WMC ge OPENNESS OP Ny AP IT WS Ne ei RCE CCST ge Ue yy a a ee MA yay ae 
STEAD SANT SA OOM eT Ve ha Ni RU Pe EN Ns Nae 2 Hh At Wa a) wet ARE vis a Bu, as Oak 
SOP ite CGY Sa ie ber PSUR tne & We Mee acct kine Nain A598) ro hin tbehe ry. re ee 45 


a ISS Gee Mar Nia 
+ eye \ Shae 


gaa ‘THE BLACK cae 


“That will I, Dick, with a glad heart,” she aniwereae 
SeCAy, sin? Methought ye were to be a monk!” aud | ag 
a voice in their ears. a , 

“Alicia!” cried Joanna. i 

“Even so,” replied the young lady, coming Covad 
“Alicia, whom ye left for dead, and whom your fon a. 
driver found, and brought to life again, and, by my 4 
sooth, made love to, if ye want to know.” A: 

“T’ll not believe it,” cried Joanna. “Dick!” i 

“Dick!”’ mimicked Alicia. “Dick, indeed! Ay, fair © 
sir, and ye desert poor damsels in distress,” she con- © 
tinued, turning to the young knight. “Ye leave them ~ 
planted behind oaks. But they say true, the age of © 
chivalry is dead.” mh 
_ “Madam,” cried Dick in despair, “upon my soul l | 

had forgotten you outright. Madam, ye must try to ~ 
- pardon me. Ye see, I had new found Joanna!” — a 

“I did not suppose that ye had done it o’ purpose,” 
she retorted. “But I will be cruelly avenged. I will © 
tell a secret to my Lady Shelton—she that is to be,” ~ 
she added, curtseying. “Joanna,” she continued, “I — 
believe, upon my soul, your sweetheart is a bold fel- 
low in a fight, but he is, let me tell you plainly, the © 
softest-hearted simpleton in England. Go to—ye may — 
do your pleasure with him! And now, fool children, ~ 


first kiss me, either one of you, for luck and kindness; ~ 


o - glass, and not one second longer; and then let us all 


and then kiss each other just one minute by th 


three set forth for Holywood as fast as we can stir; for — 
wey woods, methinks, are full of peril and exceeding 
cold.” — 
‘But did my Dick make love to you?” asked J oanna, 
elinging to her sweetheart’s side. 
_ “Nay, fool girl,” returned Alicia; “it was I mad 
love to him. I offered to marry him, indeed; but h 
bade me go marry with my likes. These were his — 
words. Nay, that I will say: he is more plain than _ 
_ pleasant. But now, children, for the sake of sense, 


or push straight for Holywood?” 
“Why,” said Dick, “I would like dearly to get upo 


es £1) dan » Yard Ait y ‘ bs 4 a ._ =). 
“ * Tt t V 5 


THE BLACK ARROW 245 


a horse; for I have been sore mauled and beaten, one 
- way and another, these last days, and my poor body 
- is one bruise. But how think ye? If the men, upon 
_ the alarm of the fighting, had fled away, we should 
_ have gone about for nothing. ’Tis but some three 
_ short miles to Holywood direct; the bell hath not beat 
- nine; the snow is pretty firm to walk upon, the moon 
clear; how if we went even as we are?” 
“Agreed!” cried Alicia; but Joanna only pressed upon 
 Dick’s arm. 
Forth, then, they went, through open leafless groves 
and down snow-clad alleys, under the white face of 
_ the winter moon; Dick and Joanna walking hand in 
_ hand and in.a heaven of pleasure; and their light- 
- minded companion, her own bereavements heartily 
- forgotten, followed a pace or two behind, now rallying 
them upon their silence, and now drawing happy pic 
tures of their future and united lives. 
Still, indeed, in the distance of the wood, the riders 
f of Tunstall might be heard urging their pursuit; and 
_ from time to time cries or the clash of steel announced 
. the shock of enemies. But in these young folk, bred 
? among the alarms. .of war, and fresh from such a multi- 
“plicity of dangers, neither fear nor pity could be 
4 lightly wakened. Content to find the sounds still draw- 
4 ing farther and farther away, they gave up their 
r 


“st, (2 = 
“ aor 


hearts to the enj joyment of the hour, walking already, 
as Alicia put it, in a wedding procession; and neither 
the rude solitude of the forest, nor the cold of the 
. freezing night, had any force to shadow or distract 
_ their happiness. 
_ _ At length, from a rising hill, they looked below 


a of the forest abbey shone with torch and candle; its 
_ high pinnacles and spires arose very clear and silent, 
_ and the gold rood upon the topmost summit glittered 
_ brightly in the moon. All about it, in the open glade, 
' camp-fires were burning, and the ground was thick 
_ with huts; and across the midst of the picture the 
en river curved. 

- “By the mass,” said Richard, “there are Lord Fox- 


them on the dell of Holywood. The great windows « ( : 


ane 246 ue ‘THE BLACK. ARROW 


Pe ham’s fellows still encamped. The messenger hath 


a place of honour on his left. 
- with a qualm at heart, “I have not even the good for- 


frown. 


certainly: miscarried. Well, then, so better. ‘We a 
- power at hand to face Sir Daniel.” a 
But if Lord Foxham’s men still lay sneered in 
the long holm at Holywood, it was from a different 
-- yeason from the one supposed by Dick. They had © 
marched, indeed, for Shoreby; but ere they were ha 
way thither, a second messenger met them, and bade ‘ 
them return to their morning’s camp, to bar the road 
against Lancastrian fugitives, and to be so much q 
nearer to the main army of York. For Richard of 5 
Gloucester, having finished the battle and stamped out | 
his foes in that district, was already on the march to © 
rejoin his brother; and not long after the return of my 7 
Lord Foxham’s retainers, Crookback himself drew — 
rein before the abbey door. It was in honour of this 
august visitor that the windows shone with lights; and | 
at the hour of Dick’s arrival with his sweetheart om 
and her friend, the whole ducal party was being enter- | 4 
tained in the refectory with the splendour of that 4 
powerful and luxurious monastery. i 
Dick, not quite with his good will, was brought b 
fore them. Gloucester, sick with fatigue, sat leanin 
upon one hand his white and terrifying countenance 
_ Lord Foxham, half recovered from his wound, was 


“How, sir?” asked Richard. “Have ye brought m 
Sir Daniel’s head?” PA! Hi 
“My lord duke,” replied Dick, stoutly enough, bu 


tune to return with my command. I have been, So. 
please your grace, well beaten.” 
Gloucester looked upon him with a formidabl 4 


“TI gave you fifty lances,* sir,” he said. é 

“My lord duke, I had but fifty men-at-arms,” re 
plied the young knight. ae 

“How is this?” said Gloucester. “He did ay me 
fifty lances.” 


_ #*Technically, the term “lance” included a not quite cer a 
- pumber of foot soldiers attached to the biaieohagt anal Me 


ie . a va “THE BLACK ARROW. Pu oie 


‘e bah r Sat is ek ” replied Richard, adding, “Shelton, ye 


9? 


go. 
eit . “Stay! ? said Lord Foxham. “This young man like- 
wise had a charge from me. It may be he hath bet- 


- maid?’ 
Heise] praise the saints, my lord,” said Dick, “she is in 


“Tg it even so? Well, then, my lord the duke,” re- 
‘sumed Lord Foxham, ‘ ‘with your good will, to-morrow, 


This young squire——” 
\ EY oung knight,” interrupted Catesby. 
“Say ye so, Sir William?” cried Lord Foxham. 


said Gloucester. ‘“‘He hath twice manfully served me. 
Iti is not valour of hands, it is a man’s mind of iron, 
‘s he lacks. He will not rise, Lord Foxham. ’Tis 
a fellow that will fight indeed bravely in a mellay, but 


{?? 


“marry him in the name of Mary, and be done! 


ham, “Consent ye, then, Sir Richard. I have com- 
- pounded this affair with Master Hamley, and to-mor- 
; row ye shall wed.” 


one 


he e was not yet clear of the refectory, when a man, 


ervants, threw himself on one knee before the duke. 
“Victory, my lord,” he cried. 


‘same day, not twenty miles away, a second crushing 
é Blow Pnad been dealt to the power of Lancaster, 


| ter sped. Say, Master Shelton, have ye found the 


efore the army march, I do propose a marriage. an 


is “J did myself, and for good service, dub him knight, ” 


_ “Nay, he is a brave lad—I know it,” said Lord Fox- _ 


Whereupon Dick judged it prudent to withdraw; but 


hath a capon’s heart. Howbeit, if he is to marry, ne 


but. newly alighted at the gate, came running four a . 
tairs at a bound, and brushing through the abbey  __ 


: — And before Dick had got to the chamber set apart ue KG 
ie or. him as Lord Foxham’s guest, the troops in the 
holm were cheering around their fires; for upon that 


CHAPTER VII 
DICK’S REVENGE 


(| Res next morning Dick was afoot before the sun, 4 


and having dressed himself to the best advan- 

tage with the aid of Lord Foxham’s baggage, — 

and got good reports of Joan, he set forth on foot to © 
walk away his impatience. i‘ 
For some while he made rounds among the soldiery, 2 


the dawn and by the red glow of torches; but gradu- — 
ally he strolled further afield, and at length passed q 
clean beyond the outpost, and walked alone in the © 
frozen forest, waiting for the sun. a 

His thoughts were both quiet and happy. His brief 
favour with the duke he could not find it in his heart 
to mourn; with Joan to wife, and my Lord Foxham — 
fora faithful patron, he looked most happily upon the - 
future; and in the past he found but little to regret. 4 

As he thus strolled and pondered, the solemn light — , 


coloured by the sun, and a little scathing wind blew. 4 
-up the frozen Hae He turned to go home; but even — 


dumb person. It was arrayed like a ae the hood :. 
lowered over the face, but Dick, in an instant, recogy 7 
nized Sir Daniel. a 

He strode up to him, drawing his sword; and the! 4 
knight, putting his hand in his bosom, as if to seize 
a hidden weapon, steadfastly awaited his approacy : 

‘Well, Dickon,” said Sir Daniel, “how is it to be? 
Do ye make war upon the fallen?” aa 


248 


+ oe eee Mage ene te igo? RI UM LEM CR On 
Vv ’ 4 a P ae é ( Ne \ 

y as oy re » \ a / ’ i 
hte are 


4 SNL EET IE aia 


_ “T made no war upon your life,” replied the lad; 
_  “{ was your true friend until ye sought for mine; but 
ye have sought for it greedily.” 

_ “Nay—self-defence,” replied the knight. “And 
now, boy, the news of this battle, and the presence of 

_ yon crooked devil in mine own wood, have broken me 

_ beyond all help. I go to Holywood for sanctuary; 

_ thence over seas, with what I can carry, and to begin 

life again in Burgundy or France.” 

“Yemay not go to Holywood,” said Dick. 

“How! May not?” asked the knight. 

“Look ye, Sir Daniel, this is my marriage morn,” 

_ said Dick; “and yon sun that is to rise will make the 

_ brightest ‘day that ever shone for me. Your life is 

- forfeit—doubly forfeit, for my father’s death and your 

a own practices to me-ward. But I myself have done 


this glad day I will be neither judge nor hangman. 
_ An ye were the devil, I would not lay a hand on you. 
An ye were the devil, ye might go where ye will 
for me. Seek God’s forgiveness ; mine ye have freely. 
But to go on to Holywood is different. I carry arms 
for York, and I will suffer no spy within their lines. 
‘Hold y 4 a then, for certain, if ye set one foot before 


post to seize you.” 
out of Holywood.” 


east, west, or south; north I will not. Holywood is 
shut against you. Go, and seek not to return. For, 


would find it ruin to make the essay.” 

— “Ye doom me,” said Sir Daniel, gloomily. 

~“T doom you not,” returned Richard. “If it so please 
a you to set your valour against mine, come on; and 


fa 


lie own single strength, and eall for none to se me. 


“Ye mock me,” said Sir Daniel. ‘I have no safety 


THE BLACK ARROW i 249. A 


% amiss; I have brought about men’s deaths; and upon ~ 


i: another, I will uplift my voice and call the nearest 


“T care no more,” returned Richard. “I let you go : 


- once ye are gone, I will warn every post about this fi 
_ army, and there will be so shrewd a watch upon all _ 
_ pilgrims that, once again, were ye the very devil, ye — 


i though I fear it be disloyal to my party, I will take | : 
ae the challenge openly and fully, fight you with mine 


tn > 


Lise: shall I avenge ‘my father, with a perfect con- an 


\ _ if your ill fate bids you, come; and, under the pleasure a 


bones to foxes.” 


five minutes I will call the post. I do perceive that 


ue _ Strangely mingled feelings, as he went swiftly and 


sudden, a bow sounded like a note of music. An arrow 


an forward in the snow. 


mh _ desperately worked; his whole body was shaken py Wi 


- perate seizure of pain shook the wounded man from 


. "250 ? ch i THE BLACK ARROW 


_ Science.” 

_ “Ay,” said Sir Daniel, “‘y’ havea long sword against « 
my dagger.” 
 “T rely upon Heaven only,” answered Dick, casting cht 
his sword some way behind him on the snow. ‘‘Now, ~ 


of the Almighty, I make myself bold to feed your i‘ 


alae did but try you, Dickon,” returned the knight, - 
\ with an uneasy semblance of a laugh. “I would not 
spill your blood.” 

'. “Go then, ere it be too late,” replied Shelton. “In 


I am long-suffering. Had but our places been re- — 
versed, I should have been bound hand and foot some 
minutes past.” 
‘Well, Dickon, I will go,” replied Sir Daniel. ‘When 
owe next meet, it shall repent you ‘sat ye were so. 
harsh.” 
And with these words, the knight turned and bigan ot 
to move off under the trees, Dick watched him with | 


warily, and ever and again turning a wicked eye upon © 
the lad who had spared him, and whom he still sus- — 
f pected. | 
- There was upon one side of where he went a thicket, | 
| strongly matted with green ivy, and, even in its win- 
ter state, impervious to the eye. ‘Herein, all ot:\a7 


- flew, and with a great choked cry of agony and anger, — 
the Knight of Tunstall threw up his,hands and fell | 


Dick bounded to his side and raised him. His face 

. eontorting spasms. 

“Ts the arrow black?” he gasped. 
“Tt is black,” replied Dick gravely. 
And then, before he could add one word, a des-— 


head to foot, so that his body leaped in Dick’s sup- 


mee ' hohe } { i t 

7 > "4 ’ : \ (Ana ’ J ao , 

Bee Gin i” > ne ' ah | Lh eau 
A a - 


ane ‘THE BLACK ARROW > 251 


hie porting arms, and with the extremity of that pang his — 
_ gpirit fled in silence. x 
| The young man laid him back gently on the snow 
and prayed for that unprepared and guilty spirit, and 
as he prayed the sun came up ‘at a ‘bound, and the i 
- robins began chirping in the ivy. 
et) When he rose to his feet, he found another man 
-_upon his knees but a few steps behind him, and, still » 
with uncovered head, he waited until that prayer also 
- ghould be over. It took long; the man with his head 
bowed and his face covered with his hands, prayed like 
one in a great disorder or distress of mind; and by the 
bow that lay beside him, Dick judged that he was no © 
~ other than the archer who had laid Sir Daniel low. ni 
At length he also rose, and showed the countenance 
of Ellis Duckworth. ri 
“Richard,” he said, very gravely, “I heard you. Ye 
_ took the better part and pardoned; I took the worse 
and there lies the clay of mine enemy. Pray for me.’ 
And he wrung him by the hand. 
. “Sir,’ said Richard, “I will pray for you indeed; 
though how I may prevail I wot not. But if ye have 
- so long pursued revenge, and find it now of such a 
sorry flavour, bethink ye, were it-not well to pardon 


eas have spared a better; and for Sir Daniel, here les 

mx his body. But for the priest, if I might anywise pre- 

Ne ee vail, I would have you let him go.’ 

ae | ea flash came into the eyes of Ellis Duckworth. | 

ee ye “Nay,” he said, “the devil is still strong within me. | 
But be at rest; the Black Arrow flieth nevermore— 


_ the fellowship is broken. They that still live shall : 


My “Aime. for me; and for yourself, go where your better | 
Ke fortune calls you, and think no more of Ellis.” 


others? Hatch—he is dead, poor shrew! I would ~ 


come to their quiet and ripe end, in Heaven’s good > i. 


CHAPTER VIII 
CONCLUSION 
BOUT nine in the morning, Lord Foxham was 


leading his ward, once more dressed as befitted 
her sex, and followed by Alicia Risingham, to the 


church of Holywood, when Richard Crookback, his 4 


brow already heavy with cares, crossed their path — 4 


-and paused. Ei 
“Is this the maid?” he asked; and when Lord Fox- — 


ham had replied in the affirmative, “Minion,” he added, 
“hold up your face until I see its favour.” i 

He looked upon her sourly for a little. 

“Ye are fair,” he said at last, “and, as they tell me, 
dowered. How if I offered you a brave marriage, as 
became your face and parentage?” 

‘My lord duke,” replied Joanna, “‘may it please your 
grace, I had rather wed with Sir Richard.” 


“How so?” he asked harshly. “Marry but the man 


I name to you, and he shall be my lord, and you my 
lady, before night. For Sir Richard, let me tell you 
plainly, he will die Sir Richard.” 


“T ask no more of heaven, my lord, than but to die 7 


Sir Richard’s wife,” returned Joanna. a 
“Look ye at that, my lord,” said Gloucester, turning % 


to Lord Foxham. ‘Here be a pair for you. The lad, 


when for good services I gave him his choice of my 


favour, chose but the grace of an old, drunken shipman. 


I did warn him freely, but he was stout in his be- 


sottedness. ‘Here dieth your favour,’ said I; and he, 
my lord, with a most assured impertinence, ‘Mine be ~ 


the loss,’ quoth he. It shall be so, by the rood!” 


“Said he so?” cried Alicia. “Then well said, lion- 
driver!’ 


“Who is this?” asked the duke. 
252 


THE BLACK ARROW 953 


“A prisoner of Sir Richard’s,” answered Lord Fox- 
ham; “Mistress Alicia Risingham.” | 
$ Aa that she be married to a sure man,” said the 

ie uke. | 
‘ile “T had thought of my kinsman, Hamley, an it like 


ig 


And there were he and Joan united. 


3 your grace,” returned Lord Foxham. “He hath well 
___ served the cause.” 
“Tt likes me well,” said Richard. “Let them be 
___wedded speedily. Say, fair maid, will you wed?” : 
ae! “My lord duke,” said Alicia, ‘so as the man is 
_ straight———” And there, in a perfect consternation, | 
the voice died on her tongue. ‘ 
_ “He is straight, my mistress,” replied Richard, 
_  ealmily. “I am the only crookback of my party; we are — 
_ else passably well shapen. Ladies, and you, my lord,” — 
_ he added, with a sudden change to grave courtesy, | 
_ “judge me not too churlish if I leave you. A captain, 
_ In the time of war, hath not the ordering of his hours.” 


eyes. 


and with a very Handeaie Station: he passed on, 
- followed by his officers. . | 
lack,” cried Alicia, “I am shent!” met 
Goa ass know him not,” replied Lord Foxham. “It is | 
 buta trifle; he hath already clean forgot your words.” — 
ie ES is, then, the very flower of knighthood,” said — hs 
Alicia. — it 
“Nay, he but mindeth other things,” returned Lord 
: Foxham. ‘“‘Tarry we no more.’ 
In the chancel they found Dick waiting, attended by 
afew young men; and there were he and Joan united. | 
- When they came forth again, happy and yet serious, - vA 
into the frosty air and sunlight, the long files of the © 
army were already winding forward up the road; 
- already the Duke of Gloucester’s banner was unfolded’ 
- and began to move from before the abbey in a clump of — 
spears; and behind it, girt by steel-clad knights, the — 
bold, black-hearted, and ambitious hunchback moved ~ 
on towards his brief kingdom and his lasting infamy. — , 
But the wedding party turned upon the other side, and © 
_ sat down, with sober merriment, to breakfast. The 
father cellarer attended on their wants, and sat with — 
_ them at table. Hamley, all jealousy forgotten, began 
to ply the nowise loth Alicia with courtship. And — 
there, amid the sounding of tuckets and the clash of © 
- armoured soldiery and horses continually moving forth, 
_ Dick and Joan sat side by side, tenderly held hands, and 
- looked, with ever-growing affection, in each other’s | 


- Thenceforth the dust and blood of that unruly ona 
passed them by. They dwelt apart from alarms in the © 
green forest where their love began. ce 
_.. Two old men in the meanwhile enjoyed pensions in 
- great prosperity and peace, and with perhaps a super- — 
_ fluity of ale and wine, in Tunstall hamlet. One had 
_ been all his life a shipman, and continued to the last to 
lament his man Tom. The other, who had been a bit 
of everything, turned in the end towards piety, and 
made a most religious death under the name of Brother 
_ Honestus in the neighbouring abbey. So inne te had 
his (ox bee died a friar. | 


TU UL 


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